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DRAMATISTS OF THE RESTORATION. 



LACY. 



Printed for Subscribers only. 

450 copies Small Paper. 
150 „ Large Paper. 
30 „ Whatman's Paper. 
3 „ Vellum. 



THE DRAMATIC 



/ 
WORKS OF JOHN LACY 



COMEDIAN. 



WITH PREFATORY MEMOIR AND NOTES. 



ttf^& 




MDCCCLXXV. 

EDINBURGH : WILLIAM PATERSON. 
LONDON : H. SOTHERAN & CO. 



in* 



9r 



2.7? 



JAMES ROBINSON PLANCHE, Esquire, 

ETC. ETC. ETC., 
WHOSE ELEGANCE OF STYLE IN 

DRAMATIC COMPOSITION, 

MORE ESPECIALLY IN 
HUMOROUS POETIC ILLUSTRATIONS OF 

HEATHEN AND FAIRY MYTHOLOGY, 

HAS FORMED ONE OF 

THE MARKED FEATURES OF THE ENGLISH STAGE 

FOR UPWARDS OF THE LAST HALF CENTURY, 

THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED, 

WITH THE MOST SINCERE REGARDS OF 

THE EDITORS. 






CONTENTS. 





TAGB 


PREFATORY MEMOIR, 


ix 


THE DUMB LADY, . . 


1 


THE OLD TROOP, 


. 117 


SIR HERCULES BUFFOON, 


209 


SAUNY THE SCOT, . 


. 311 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. 



John Lacy, comedian, the author and adapter of 
the dramatic pieces in this volume, was born in 
the vicinity of Doncaster. According to Aubrey, 
he "came to London, to ye playhouse, 1631," and 
apprenticed himself to John Ogilby, who at that 
time exercised the vocation of a dancing-master. 
This latter meritorious individual, born at Edin- 
burgh in 1600, was the means, at the age of thir- 
teen, along with his mother's combined industry, 
of releasing his father, a gentleman who had 
dissipated a good estate, from the King's Bench 
Prison, and assisting him to pay his debts. He 
then became apprentice to one Mr. Draper, who 
kept a dancing-school in Gray's Inn Lane, "and 
in a short time arrived to so great excellency 
in that art, that he found means to purchase his 
time of his master, and sett up for himself e." In 
addition to his teaching, Ogilby figured occasion- 
ally in court masques, until an accident unfitted 
him for such public displays. " When the Duke 
of Buckingham's great masque was represented at 
court, he was chosen, among the rest, to performe 
some extraordinary part in it ; and vaulting and 
cutting capers being then in fashion, he, endea- 
vouring to doe something extraordinary, by mis- 
fortune of a false step when he came to the ground 
did spraine a veine on the inside of his leg, of which 



X PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

he was lame ever after, which gave an occasion to 
say, ' that he was an excellent dancing-master, and 
never a good leg.' " * 

Shortly before the Rebellion, John Ogilby went 
over to Ireland, to teach in the family of the Earl 
of Strafford, the Lord-Lieutenant, who appointed 
him Master of the Ceremonies for that kingdom, 
and assisted him to build a little theatre in St. 
Warbrugh Street in Dublin ; but, the Rebellion 
breaking out, his theatre was ruined and he lost 
everything. He returned to England in 1648, 
and printed a translation of Virgil made by him- 
self. At the age of sixty he betook himself to 
the study of Greek, and translated Horner's Iliad, 
which Pope mentions that he read when a child 
" with a pleasure that left the most lasting im- 
pression on his mind." In anticipation of the 
Restoration, he printed "the fairest impression 
and the most correct of English Bibles that ever 
was yet done, in royall and imperiall paper." He 
also printed and published His Majesty's Entertain- 
ments at his Coronation, in folio, with cuts, 1662. In 
the same year he returned to Ireland, and, in virtue 
of his patent as Master of the Revels, built a new 
theatre at Dublin at a cost of two thousand pounds, 
"having disputed his right with Sir William 
D'Avenant, who had obtained a grant." While 
at Dublin he wrote a play, called The Merchant of 
Dublin, which was never printed. He published 
a translation of Homer's Odyssey in 1665, and, in 
his retirement at Kingston-upon-Thames, during 
the plague, wrote among other works a second 
volume of his Paraphrase of jEsop, which he called 



* Aubrey's Lives of Eminent Men. London, 1813. 8vo. 
Vol. ii. 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. XI 

his JEsopiques. Having lost all he had, except 
five pounds, by the great Fire, he made proposals 
to print an English atlas, and was encouraged by 
the King and the nobility to make an actual 
survey of the roads of England and Wales, by 
which the posts were regulated. He was appointed 
his majesty's cosmographer, and died 4th Sep- 
tember 1676. 

Under such a master as this, and retaining the 
friendship of such a man during his subsequent 
career, it cannot be doubted that Lacy was largely 
benefited. 

A writer, supposed to be Motteux, in the Con- 
tinuation of Langbaine's Lives of the Dramatic Poets, 
in treating of Lacy, says he was "originally a 
dancing-master;" but further than his having 
apprenticed himself to Ogilby to learn the art, 
apparently in connection with his theatrical pur- 
suits, there is no record of his ever having been a 
teacher. The same writer observes, of his per- 
sonal appearance, that he was " of a rare shape of 
body and good complexion," which other authori- 
ties confirm. 

During the Civil War, he, like the majority of 
his brother actors, betook himself to the " passage 
of arms," and procured a commission as lieutenant 
and quartermaster under Colonel Lord Gerard, 
afterwards the Earl of Macclesfield. He returned 
to the stage at the Eestoration, and became a 
universal favourite, more especially in eccentric 
comedy. - Pepys was a great admirer of his, and 
numerous are the entries in his diary respecting 
him. Noticing his appearance, 21st May 1662, 
in the play of The French Dancing- Mistress, he says, 
" The play pleased us very well, but Lacy's part, 
the dancing-mistress, the best in the world." On 



Xll PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

the 2 2d May, he again says, "We by coach to 
the theatre, and saw Love in a Maze. The play 
hath little in it, but Lacy's part of a country fellow, 
which he did to admiration." 

On the 10th June, in the year following, he 
again went, with some friends, to see Love m a 
Maze. " The play is pretty good, but the life of 
the play is Lacy's part, the clown, which is most 
admirable ; but for the rest, which are counted 
old and excellent actors, in my life I never heard 
both men and women so ill pronounce their 
parts." 

" 12th June 1663.— To the Eoyal Theatre, and 
there saw The Committee, a merry but indifferent 
play; only Lacy's part, an Irish footman, is be- 
yond imagination." 

Four years afterwards he again sees the same 
piece, with a different impression as to its merits : — 

" 13th August 1667.— Sir W. Pen and I to the 
King's House, and there saw The Committee, which 
I went to with some prejudice, not liking it before, 
but I do now find it a very good play, and a great 
deal of good invention in it ; but Lacy's part is so 
well performed that it would set off anything." 

As Lacy figures prominently in the following 
graphic account of the production of Howard's 
Change of Crowns and its consequences, we give 
it in Pepys' own words : — 

"15th April 1667.— To the King's House by 
chance — where a new play ; so full as I never saw 
it ; I forced to stand all the while close to the 
very door, till I took cold, and many people went 
away for want of room. The King, and Queene, 
and Duke of York and Duchesse there, and all 
the Court, and Sir W. Coventry. The play 
called The Change of Crownes, a play of Ned 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. Xlll 

Howard's* — the best that I ever saw at that 
house, being a great play, and serious ; only Lacy 
did act the country gentleman come up to Court, 
who do abuse the Court with all the imaginable 
wit and plainness about selling of places, and 
doing everything for money. The play took very 
well." 

16th April 1667, Pepys, going with his wife to 
see again The Change of Crowns, was surprised to 
find that the play had been changed. " However in, 
and there Knipp came into the pit. Knipp tells me 
the King was so angry at the liberty taken by 
Lacy's part to abuse him to his face, that he com- 
manded they should act no more, till Moone went 
and got leave for them to act again, but not this 
play. The King mighty angry ; and it was bitter 
indeed, but very fine and witty. . . . Pretty to 
hear them talk of yesterday's play, and I durst not 
own to my wife that I had seen it." 

" 20th April.— Met Mr. Eolt, who tells me the 
reason of no play to-day at the King's House. 
That Lacy had been committed to the porter's 
lodge for his acting his part in the late new play, 
and, being thence released to come to the King's 
House, he there met with Ned Howard, the poet 
of the play, who congratulated his release ; upon 
which Lacy cursed him, as that it was the fault 
of his nonsensical play that was the cause of his 
ill-usage. Mr. Howard did give him some reply ; 
to which Lacy answered him that he was more a 
fool than a poet \ upon which Howard did give 
him a blow on the face with his glove ; on which 
Lacy, having a cane in his hand, did give him a 



* Younger son of the first Earl of Berkshire, and. brother to 
Sir Robert Howard. 



XIV PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

blow over the pate. Here Rolt and others that 
discoursed of it in the pit did wonder that Howard 
did not run him through, he being too mean a 
fellow to fight with. But Howard did not do 
anything but complain to the King of it ; so the 
whole house is silenced, and the gentry seem to 
rejoice much at it, the house being become too 
insolent." 

On 1st May 1667, and 28th April 1668, Pepys 
commends Lacy's admirable acting of the clown 
in Love in a Maze; and on 13th July 1667 he has 
this entry : " Yesterday Sir Thomas Crewe told 
me that Lacy lies a-dying; nor will receive any 
ghostly advice from a bishop, an old acquaintance 
of his, that went to see him." 

Lacy, however, recovered from this serious ill- 
ness, and survived it for several years ; but he did 
not appear upon the stage so frequently as he had 
previously done. He is thus again noticed by 
Pepys : — 

" 19th January 1668-69. — At noon eat a mouth- 
ful, and so with my wife to Madam Turner's and 
find her gone, but The. staid for us ; and so to the 
King's House to see Horace. This the third day of 
its acting — a silly tragedy ; but Lacy hath made a 
farce of several dances — between each act one ; 
but his words are but silly, and invention not 
extraordinary as to the dances ; only some Dutch- 
men come out of the mouth and tail of a Ham- 
burgh sow. Thence, not much pleased with the 
play, set them at home in the Strand." 

" The famous Mr. Lacy." Mr. Wilkes observes in 
his View of the Stage, 1759, 8vo, "was an excellent 
low comedian, and so pleasing to King Charles." 

Rymer, in his Dissertation on Tragedy, speaks 
of him thus : — " The eyes of the audience are 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. XV 

prepossessed and charmed by his action before 
aught of the poet can approach their ears." 

Langbaine says of him : — " He was a comedian 
whose abilities were sufficiently known to all that 
frequented the Theatre Royal, where for many 
years he performed all parts that he undertook to 
a miracle, insomuch that I am apt to believe that 
as this age never had, so the next never will have, 
his equal, at least not his superiour. He was so 
well approved by Charles II., that he caused his 
picture to be drawn in three several figures in the 
same table, viz. that of Teague in The Committee, 
Scruple in The Cheats, and Galliard in Variety; 
which piece is still in being in Windsor Castle." 

Galliard is a character in the Duke of New- 
castle's Variety ; Teague, a low Irishman, is in Mr. 
Robert Howard's Committee, a comedy which has 
since been reduced to a farce, under the title of 
Honest Thieves; and Scruple, a canting, mercenary 
Nonconformist, in Wilson's Cheats, whose style of 
hypocrisy and casuistry was doubtless very enter- 
taining in that day, when the original, now long 
become quite obsolete, was to be met with in every 
street. 

Aubrey thus notes : — " His ma tie - (Ch. n.) has 
severall pictures of this famous comedian at Wind- 
sore and Hampton Court, in the postures of severall 
parts that he acted, e.g. Teag, IA Yaux, the 
Puritan." 

A copy of the painting in compartments at 
Windsor Castle was amongst Mr. Harris' theatri- 
cal portraits which were sold by the hammer of 
George Robins in 1819. It fetched eleven guineas. 
The romancing auctioneer, probably imagining 
that the three characters were all assumed in one 
piece, described Lacy as " the Matthews of his day." 



XVI PREFATORY MEMOIR. 

Langbaine further says : — " I remember in 
Shirley's Changes, the deceased Mr. Lacy acted 
Johnny Thump, Sir Gervase Simple's man, with 
general applause ;" and, speaking of Falstaff, "this 
part used to be played by Mr. Lacy, and never 
failed of applause." Downes chronicles his suc- 
cesses in these three lines : — 

" For his just acting all gave him due praise, 
His part in The Cheats, Jony Thump, Teg,* and Bayes- 
In these four excelling ; the Court gave him the bays. " 

Geneste gives this list of the chief characters he 
played : — 

In Yere Street, about 1662, Scruple, in The 
Cheats.] 

Theatre Eoyal, 1663. — Teague, inThe Committee.] 

1664. — Captain Otter, in The Silent Woman. 
Ananias, in The Alchemist. 

1665.— Sir Politick Would-be, in Volpone. Mon- 
sieur Eaggou, in The Old Troop.] 

1666. — Sir Roger, in The Scornful Lady. 

1667. — Sauny the Scot, j Country gentleman, in 
The Change of Crowns.] Johnny Thump, in 



1669. — Drench, in The Dumb Lady.] 
1671.— -Bayes.f 
1672. — Alderman Gripe, in Love in a Wood.] 
1673. — Intrigo, in Love in the Lark] 
" He probably," says Geneste, " acted French- 
love in the English Monsieur; Pinguister in All 
Mistaken ; Tartuffe ; French valet, in The Mock 
Duellist ; the English Lawyer; Bobadill." 

Langbaine continues : — " Nor did his talent 
wholly lie in acting ; he knew both how to judge 



* Teague in Howard's works is spelt " Teg." 
f Originally. 



PREFATORY MEMOIR. XVU 

and write plays. And if his comedies are somewhat 
allied to French farce, it is ont of choice rather 
than want of ability to write true comedy. We 
have three plays extant under his name : — 

" The Dumb Lady, or The Farrier made Physician. 
A comedy. 1672. 

" The Old Troop, or Monsieur Bagou. A comedy. 
1672. 

" Sir Hercules Buffoon, or The Poetical Squire. A 
comedy. 1682." 

Besides these three plays, a fourth is attributed 
to him, Sauny the Scot, which, although produced 
in 1667, was not printed until 1698, but with 
Lacy's name on the title-page. 

Pepys thus mentions the reception of The Old 
Troop: — "31st July 1668. — To the King's House 
to see the first day of Lacy's Monsieur Bagou, now 
new acted. The King and Court all there, and 
mighty merry. A farce." 

In the Poems on State Affairs, it is insinuated 
by Sir George Etherege that Lacy participated 
with Hart in the favours of Nell Gwyn. Be 
that as it may, he is known to have been her 
first instructor in the art of acting, the lessons she 
received from Hart being subsequent. 

Lacy lived to an advanced age. His death oc- 
curred on Saturday, 17th September 1681, and he 
was buried " in the further churchyard of St. 
Martyn's-in-the-Fields on the Monday following." 

JAMES MAIDMENT. 
W. H. LOGAN. 

Edinburgh, 1st January 1875. 



THE DUMB LADY. 



The Dumb Lady ; or The Farrier made Physician. As 
it was acted at the Theatre Royal. By John Lacy, Gent. 
London : Printed for Thomas Bring, at the White Lyon, 
next Chancery Lane end in Fleet Street. 1672. 



This play is founded on Moliere's comedy Le Medecin 
malgre lui. "If," says Langbaine, "the reader will take 
the pains to compare them together, he will easily see that 
our author has much improv'd the French play. " Geneste 
has this entry: "Dumb Lady; or the Farrier made a 
Physician. This farce, in five acts, was put together by 
Lacy. The main plot is taken from Moliere's Mock Doctor; 
the catastrophe is borrowed from Moliere's Love's the best 
Doctor." The Dumb Lady was not printed till 1672, but it 
was probably acted about this time, as Softhead, in the first 
act, says, "I'll die a virgin martyr." Massinger's Virgin 
Martyr had been revived in 1668. Lacy concludes his 
Epistle to the Header with hoping that his play will prove 
as beneficial to the printer as it had formerly been to him- 
self. There are no performers' names to the Dramatis Per- 
sonam, but Lacy no doubt acted "Drench, the Farrier." 

The plot of the Medecin malgre lui, simple in itself, has, 
through the instrumentality of those who wish to throw a 
doubt upon the originality of Moliere, been ascribed to 
foreign sources. One has it, that ' ' this excellent poet has 
taken the plot of that humorous piece from a history re- 
lated by a certain German writer, Adam Olearius;" while 
another says : "It has been recently proved that Hop o' 
my Thumb is but another rendering of an Indian fable ; and 
that Cinderella too, and many other popular stories, come 
from the Egyptian Rhodopia. The story of Moliere's 
Medecin malgre lui has been found by M. Cosquin in a 
Sanscrit collection, ' La Couka Saptali. ' " 

The former thus proceeds : "This Olearius published, in 
1647, his Scientific Journey to Moscow and Persia; which 
history, being translated into French as early as the year 
1656 by the celebrated Wickefort, might have been read by 
Moliere before the Medecin malgre lui was, for the first time, 
brought upon the stage in 1666." 

"The history in question," he continues, "is briefly as 
follows : — The Grand Duke Boris Gudenow, who reigned 
during the years 1597 and 1605, was, according to the re- 
lation of Olearius, very much afflicted with the gout. At a 
certain period, when he suffered very severe pains, he caused 
it publicly to be proclaimed at Moscow, that he would re- 



4 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 

ward with extraordinary favour and great riches the man, 
whoever he might be, that would relieve him from those 
pains. It seems that no one voluntarily appeared to earn 
the favour of the Grand Duke ; and, indeed, no wonder, for 
a doctor had his whole existence at stake in those times in 
Eussia if his cure failed upon some high or noble patient ; 
and Gudenow was in the habit of making the surgeon, as if 
he considered the latter as absolute master of nature, respon- 
sible for the result of his art. 

" The wife of a certain bojaar, or councillor of the cabinet, 
who received very harsh treatment from her husband, took 
the advantage of this public edict of the Grand Duke to 
revenge herself, in a cunning manner, on her cruel husband. 
She therefore had the Duke informed that her husband pos- 
sessed an infallible remedy for the gout, but that he was not 
sufficiently humane to impart it. 

" The bojaar was immediately sent for to court, and strictly 
examined. The latter declared, by all that was holy, that he 
was unacquainted with any such remedy, and had not the 
slightest knowledge of medicine. But oaths would not avail 
him ; Gudenow had him severely whipped and confined. 
When, shortly after, he was again examined, he repeated 
the same declarations, adding that this trick was probably 
played upon him by his wife ; the Duke had him whipt a 
second time, but more severely, and threatened him with 
death if he did not speedily relieve him from pain. Seized 
with terror, the bojaar was now entirely at a loss what to be 
at. He promised to do his best, but requested a few days in 
order to have the necessary drugs gathered. Having, with 
great difficulty, had his request granted, he sent to Ozirbalt, 
two days' journey from Moscow, in order to get thence all 
sorts of drugs which were to be had there. He sent for a 
cartload of them, mixed them all together, and prepared 
therewith a bath for the Duke, in the hope of his blind cure 
proving successful. Gudenow, after having used the bath, 
really found some relief, and the bojaar had his life spared 
him. Nevertheless, because he had known such an art, 
denied his knowledge of it, and refused his assistance to the 
Grand Duke, the latter had him again thoroughly whipt, 
and after being entirely recovered, he gave him a new dress, 
two hundred rubles, and eighteen slaves, by way of a pre- 
sent. In addition to this, he seriously admonished the 
doctor never to be revenged on his wife. It is said that 
the bojaar, after this occurrence, lived many years in peace 
and happiness with his spouse. " 



INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 5 

The second account, as found by M. Cosquin in "La Couka 
Saptali," is as follows: — "In the town of Pantchapoura 
lived a king called Satroumardana. His daughter, named 
Madanarekha, had an abscess in her throat. The doctors 
applied all kinds of plasters, but without effect, so at last 
they agreed that there was no remedy for the disease. Then 
the King proclaimed in every country that he who cured the 
Princess should be richly rewarded. The wife of a Brahmin 
who lived in a village, having heard the proclamation, said 
to the messenger, 'My husband is the most skilful magician 
and charmer in the world. Take him with you ; he will 
cure the Princess. ' And she said to her husband, ' Pre- 
tend to be a magician and a charmer, and go boldly into the 
town to cure the Princess. You won't waste your time.' 
The Brahmin went to the palace and to the Princess, 
sprinkled her with water, blew at her, and imitated the 
charmers, muttering the while between his teeth. Suddenly 
he cried out at the top of his voice, and uttered a farrago of 
the most absurd words he could think of. On hearing all 
these strange utterances, the Princess was taken with such a 
fit of laughter, that the abscess broke and she was cured. 
The King, transported with joy, overloaded the Brahmin 
with presents." 

There is another adaptation of Le Medecin malgre lui, 
in the shape of a ballad farce by Henry Fielding, called The 
Mock Doctor, or the Dumb Lady Cured, and acted at Drury 
Lane in 1732. Geneste, remarking upon the English trans- 
lation of Moliere's plays (1739), reminds us respecting Le 
Medecin malgre lui, that Mrs. Centlivre used a great part 
of it in her Love's Contrivance, 1703. 

The "high-born and most hopeful prince," to whom this 
drama is inscribed, was the eldest of the three natural sons 
of Charles n. by Barbara Villiers, wife of Roger Palmer, 
Earl of Castlemain, better known as Duchess of Cleveland, 
a dignity conferred by her royal keeper in testimony of the 
high opinion he entertained of her "personal" virtues,* — 
at least, so runs the preamble of the patent of creation. 

. At the date of the play the hopeful prince enjoyed the 
title of Earl of Southampton, " as," says Collins, the Peer- 
age writer, "heir of his mother, the Duchess of Cleveland," 
that being her second title. Upon the first of April 1673 he 
was installed a Knight of the Garter, and upon the 10th of 
September 1675 was created Duke of Southampton, Earl of 
Chichester, and Baron of Newberry, with remainder to the 
* Collins' Peerage, vol. i. p. 56 London, 1741. 8ro. 



b INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 

heirs male of his body, whom failing to his younger brother 
George, Duke of Northumberland. Upon the death of his 
mother, at her house of Chiswick, in the county of Mid- 
dlesex, on 9th October 1709, the title of Cleveland, under the 
limitations in the patent, devolved on her eldest son Charles. 

His Grace married, when eighteen, Mary, heiress of Sir 
Henry Wood, the elder brother of Thomas, Bishop of 
Litchfield and Coventry. The Duchess died in 1680, and 
was buried in "Westminster Abbey. By her he had no 
issue. This lady seems to have brought him a very hand- 
some fortune, as in Michaelmas term 1685 he had a decree 
in Chancery against the Bishop for £30,000, "as part of 
his lady's fortune." 

In 1694 the Duke took to wife Anne, daughter of Sir 
William Pulteny of Misterton, in the county of Leicester, 
by whom he had three sons and three daughters. He died 
9th September 1730, and was succeeded by his eldest son 
William, who dying without issue in 1774, the titles of 
Cleveland and Southampton became extinct, and remained 
so for more than half a century, when the Dukedom of 
Cleveland was revived in the person of the Earl of Dar- 
lington, the heir of line of Lady Grace Fitzroy, the second 
daughter of Duke Charles, who married Henry Vane, son 
of Lord Barnard. Her eldest sister Barbara died unmarried, 
and her youngest sister, Lady Anne, who married John 
Paddey, Esq., departed this life at Waterford, Herts, the 
23d of January 1769. 



TO THE HIGH-BORN AND MOST HOPEFUL 
PRINCE CHARLES, LORD LIMRICK, AND 
EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON. 



Great Sir, — When I began to write this dedi- 
cation my hand shook, a fear possessed me, and I 
trembled; my pen fell from me, and my whole 
frame grew disordered, as if blasted with some 
sudden upstart comet. Such awe and reverence 
waits on dignity, that I now find it fit for me to 
wish I had been refused the honour of my dedica- 
tion, rather than undertake a task so much too 
great for me. How shall I excuse this bold and 
saucy fault 1 How shall my mean, unworthy pen 
render you your attributes 1 Now I find presump- 
tion is a sin indeed. I have given myself a wound 
beyond the cure of common men : heal me, then, 
great sir ; for where princes touch, the cure is in- 
fallible. And now, since you so graciously have 
received my Farrier, who dares say he is no Phy- 
sician 1 When you vouchsafe to call him Doctor, 
he has commenced, and from your mouth he has 
taken his degree ; for what you say is, and ought 
to be. Such a power is due to you from the 
greatness of your blood. I and my abject muse 
had perished but for you; and in such distress 
whither should we flee for shelter but to him that 
has power to spread his wings and cover us 1 And 
you have done it generously. Yet am I not to 
wonder at this virtue in you, since your high birth 



8 THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY. 

can do no less for you than to make you good ; and 
you are so. And may that goodness and humility 
which so early appears in you increase to a full 
perfection ! May your virtues prove as beautiful 
as your person ! May they still endeavour to out- 
vie each other, yet neither obtain, but still walk 
hand in hand till your virtues in you be reverenced 
by all mankind, and your lovely person honoured 
by all women ; and so may you continue to a long 
and happy life. But I need not wish this, nor the 
world doubt it, for already you're possessed of all 
those virtues that men hereafter may reasonably 
expect from you; for, being supported with ma- 
jesty of one side, and with so admired and beauti- 
ful a mother on the other, besides her great and 
honourable birth, on such sure foundations you 
cannot fail our hopes ; and that you never may, 
shall be for ever the prayers of your most faithful 
and most obedient servant, 



John Lacy. 



THE EPISTLE TO THE READER. 

Gentle reader (for so most epistles begin), being 
conscious of my own weakness (for so they go on), 
I let thee know my own modesty had kept me 
from the press, but for the importunity of friends 
(and so they make an end). 

By this, you see, poetry consists more of fancy 
than truth. So do the poets too, or else why 
should they seem ashamed to come into the press, 
when I know their bowels languish within them 
till they are there, vain-glory being the chief in- 
gredient that makes up the spirit of poetry, and the 
grand inducement that puts us all in print % There 
is a kind of charm in poetry — 'tis like tobacco and 
chemistry ; for if you once take the one and under- 
take the other, you are fixed to the freehold never 
to be parted. So fares it with the dabblers in the 
dew of Parnassus : no revilings, no shameful re- 
proaches can discourage us ; still we write on, still 
we are fixed to the freehold. I have observed 
how much more precious to a poet the issue of his 
brain is than that of his loins, for I have known 
them bury children without grief or trouble ; but 
the issue of their brain is so dear and tender to 
them, that if you go about to persuade them but to 
cut a play or poem shorter, they are so concerned, 
that every line you cut is valued at a joint, and 
every speech a limb lopped off. Without doubt, 
there is a kind of madness in poetry, or else how 
can a man be so vainly possessed as to think his 



10 THE EPISTLE TO THE READER. 

own works exceed all other men's? That there 
are such men is but too true, for I myself have 
thought so of my own poetry ; and when I, that am 
so mean an under-shrub, do prove so vainly mad, 
the tall cedars, sure, must needs be shaken with 
outrageous fits ; and in those fits they write rap- 
tures, and fly to the skies, and get among the 
gods, and make such work that you would swear 
they're all breaking up school and coming down 
amongst us. For my part, I wonder they have 
not come all this while ; I'm sure they have been 
sufficiently provoked. I thank my incapacity I am 
not so far gone in poetry as to arrive at those fits. 
Yet I have this to say, that I have had my ends 
upon poetry, and not poetry upon me ; for if 
poetry had gained its ends on me, it had made me 
mad, but that I having my ends on it appears in 
my getting money by it, which was shown plenti- 
fully on my poet's days ; but that I thank my 
friends for, and not the desert of my plays. And I 
wish, reader, that you may prove as kind to the 
printer as you were to me when you were a hearer; 
and that my farrier may prove as good a servant 
to him as formerly to me, who am, reader, your 
humble servant, 



John Lacy. 



PROLOGUE. 

Here I am, and not asham'd who know it, 
I humbly come your forma pauperis poet: 
Not Hector-like, that one half-year has writ, 
And fights th' other half to defend that wit. 
Xor have I brought you here a second play, 
Like him that pretends preaching twice a day ; 
And when you gravely come i' th' afternoon, 
He puts you off with repetition, 
Saying, you may remember in the morn 
I told you thus, and so, and where, and when ; 
So spins out his hour with the same again. 
Though such things pass on those that sermons 

hear, 
It will not do with play-judgers, I fear. 
I would you had their grace, and they your wit ; 
Sermons would then be hard as plays to hit, 
And easy scenes would pass upon you, when 
Grace above wit abounds in gentlemen. 
How would the poets all rejoice to see 
This age appear i' th' old simplicity — 
To have your wives and you come ten times o'er, 
To see the pudding eaten in Jane Shore ; 
To cry up the bold Beauchamps of the stage ? 
There was a blessed understanding age. 
I would you were such but for one three days, 
Till the poor poet gather up his bays ; 
Or else my less than fifth-rate wit, I find, 
Will force me beg you'll not be just, but kind. 
Yet use me as you please, my comfort is, 
Philosophy can no farther go than this : — 
If by your vengeance I must needs be worried, 
I'm not the first small poet has miscarried. 



THE ACTORS' NAMES. 



Gernette, . 


. An old rich gentleman. 


Olinda, . . . 


. His daughter, pretending dumb- 




ness, and after that mad- 




ness. 


Squire Softhead, . Her suitor. 


Leander, . . 


. Her lover, but not permitted. 


Drench, . . 


. A farrier, beaten to a Doctor. 


Isabel, . . 


His wife. 


Jarvis, . . 


. Servant to Gernette. 


Nurse, . . 


. His wife, and housekeeper to 




Gernette. 


Mrs. Nibby, . 


. Cousin to Gernette. 


Mr. Othentick, 


. A parson, and brother to 




Leander. 


Three Doctors 


of physic. 


Women-Servant 


rs attending on Olinda. 


Two Footboys. 




Two Whippers 


of Bedlam. 


Patients. 




Neighbours. 





THE DUMB LADY. 



Act i. — Scene i. 
Enter Jarvis and Servant. 

Ser. The like was never heard of — to have a 
sweet young lady, as she was going to be married, 
to fall dumb ! 

Jar. If my wife had done so too, I think it had 
been ne'er the worse for the commonwealth; but 
it would make any woman dumb to be designed 
for such a fop as Squire Softhead. 

Ser. He is a fop of a new stamp. I would not 
marry a milkmaid to him. 

Jar. I would he had my wife, or any that would 
make him a cuckold ! He has turned away twenty 
servants because they do not call him Squire oft 
enough. I shall be sick every time I hear the 
word Squire, he has made it so ridiculously loath- 
some. 

Ser. He has been called so from his cradle in 
the country, where the title of Squire had always 
great worship, till the fool crept in amongst them, 
of which he is chief. 

Jar. Yes, faith, for if there were an army of 
fops, — as truly I think they might be raised here, 
— Squire Softhead must be General. He has one 
faculty: he will maintain a quarrel within three 



14 THE DUMB LADY. 

words of striking, and then he will eat cold cus- 
tard. 

Ser.. Hang him ! But dost thou think my 
young mistress is dumb indeed 1 

Jar. You saw the doctors could not cure her. 
But if she do counterfeit, do not blame her, for 
'twere pity upon pity that the Squire — a pox squire 
him ! — should have her. Here they all come ! 

Enter Gernette ; his Daughter, led by Ser- 
vants as dumb ; Squire Softhead, her 
suitor ; Nibby, and Jarvis. 

Ger. To have my child struck dumb upon her 
intended wedding day, and to have the doctors 
give her over, too ! my unhappy stars ! 

Soft. Are the stars such unhappy things 1 Are 
they the cause of her dumbness 1 By the heart of 
a horse, if I thought so I'd complain of 'em. 

Nib. Complain of the stars ! Who would you 
complain to, good Squire Softhead 1 

Soft. I'd complain to the sun and moon ; I war- 
rant you they'd not uphold them in their rascally 
twinkling tricks. 

Nib. Alas, poor Squire, the sun is always in 
haste ; he ne'er stays to hear complaints. 

Soft. Why, then, I'll watch them when they 
fall; and if the proudest star of them all light 
within my ground, by the heart of a horse, I'll 
have an action of trespass against them; and if the 
law once take hold of 'em, I'll warrant 'em for 
twinkling again in haste. 

Nib. You were best get a star-trap to catch 'em in. 

Soft. I warrant you a law-trap will do as well. 

Nib. Do you think your daughter had not better 
be dumb and dead than marry such a ridiculous 
brute as this % 






THE DUMB LADY. 15 

Ger. Oh, but his estate lies so sweetly round 
mine, that when she understands the blessing she'll 
doat on him as I do. 

Nib. Marry, the devil doat on him ! Why, sir, 
he never comes into her chamber but he is all of a 
foaming sweat, throws off his periwig — and no one 
knows whether he or that smells rankest ; then he 
runs to the looking-glass, rubs his head with the 
dressing cloth, puts on his periwig, then combs 
out the powder upon his mistress, so makes a 
scurvy leg, and leaves her. There's a lover, with 
a pox to him ! But, Squire, why do you profane 
the stars so % 

Soft. Profane ! There's a company of vagabond 
wand'ring stars that do nothing but run up and 
down the sky to tell fortunes, just like our gipsies 
i' th' highway ; I know 'em well enough. Heart 
of a horse, to lose a wife for want of three words ! 
If she had said but " to have and to hold," we had 
had no further use of her tongue as I know of. 

Nib. Why so, Squire 1 

Soft. Do not call me Squire, mistress. Bare 
Squire, without Softhead, sounds scurvily, and 'tis 
scurvily done to call me so, and as scurvily I take 
it ; and, by the heart of a horse, if you were not a 
woman, I'd wound you scurvily. 

Jar. Truly, methinks, there's such a sympathy 
betwixt Squire and Softhead that 'tis a thousand 
pities to part them. 

Nib. I beseech you, Squire, which is the an- 
cientest family, the Softheads or the Hauf heads ? * 

Soft. The Softheads are the ancientest family in 
Europe, for Adam's youngest son got a knock in 
his cradle, and the Softheads ever since derive 
themselves in a direct line from him. 

* Hauf-rockton. Quite silly. — Yorsh. 



16 THE DUMB LADY. 

Ger. How does my child. 1 Thou hast thy health, 
I hope 1 

Olin. A-a-a-a-a ! 

Soft. Heart of a horse, I believe she counterfeits 
dumbness ; but I have a trick to make her speak 
again, if you'll give me leave. 

Ger. With all my heart, sir ; what is it % 

Soft. Why, I'll go call her jade and whore, and 
that will provoke her to call me rogue and rascal, 
you know. 

Ger. Though it be upon such rude terms, I 
would be glad to hear her speak, sir. 

Soft. Come on ! Why do not you speak the 
words of matrimony, you jade, that you might be 
my wife, you little whore % Look you, sir, she has 
given me an answer. 

[She takes him a cuff d th' ear. 

Ger. Ay, but 'tis but with her hand, sir. 

Soft. However, 'tis an answer, sir ; and she may 
marry me with her hand as well as with her 
tongue, for it seems to me to be the stronger con- 
firmation. 

Ger. Squire, if you love my child, endeavour to 
find all possible helps. Where's my servants % 
Bun and ride all ways imaginable ; leave no 
ground unsearched, nor means unthought of, to 
recover her. 

Nib. And, good Squire Softhead, find out a wise 
man to cure her. Do you know one when you see 
him? 

Soft. By my troth, to my knowledge, I never 
saw a wise man in my life. 

Jar. Do you send a fool to find out a wise man 1 

Nib. If he cannot find a wise man, a wise man 
will find out him quickly. 

Ger. Come, lead my child to her chamber, and 



THE DUMB LADY. 17 

ride all ways and all countries to find out wise and 
able men. [Exeunt all but Jarvis and Softhead. 

Soft. Jarvis, how shall we do to know a wise man 
when we see him] What marks and signs have they] 

Jar. Why, their dress and their speech they 
have from the stool of formality ; and they have 
likely a bald head with a satin cap on't, a narrow 
band with a broad hat ; a cane growing in their 
hands, with the silver head always bobbing at 
their lips ; and they that are thus habited are taken 
for wise men. 

Soft. Why, then, I may be a wise man if a 
silver cane will make me so ; but, prithee, what do 
these wise men do 1 

Jar. By'r lady, that will puzzle a wise man to tell 
you, for I never heard of anything that was wisely 
done in my life ; therefore I think wise men do 
nothing. 

Soft. Then I will be wise, whatsoever it cost me, 
for I love to do nothing above all things i'th' 
world. But come, let us go the right way to find a 
wise man now. 

Jar. I'll warrant you go right, for we'll go 
directly east. 

Soft. Why, you fool, the wise men came out 
o'th' east, and dost thou think to find them there 
when they left the place 1 

Jar. Ay, but, sir, they returned back into their 
own country again. 

Soft. Did they ] Why, then, the wise men of the 
east are not so wise as the wise men of France ; for 
if they get into another country, the devil cannot 
drive them home again. [Exeunt. 

Enter Drench, a farrier, and Isabel, his wife. 
Br. I say, dame Isabel, I'll have it my way ! 



1 8 THE DUMB LADY. 

Isa. Have it my way ! Why, who are you, sir % 
Art thou any more than my husband, fellow % How 
earnest thou thus audacious, then, to say, I'll have 
it my way 1 Say that again, and by the faith I 
have in my confidant, my gallant shall make thee 
an example. 

Dr. Aha ! have you your confidant and your 
gallant, wife 1 

Isa. Yes, that I have. You know when the 
great ones have done with a fashion, it comes 
amongst we mean madams into the country at last ; 
and I have as much privilege due to me as any 
freeborn people in the world has, and we women 
will maintain the liberties of the subject with our 
lives and fortunes. 

Dr. By'r lady, wife, you rant like a freeborn 
subject indeed ! But, pray you, what do you with 
the word " freeborn subject " 1 

Isa. I have it to show that I am one of the free- 
born, and may have my gallant, with all the per- 
quisites belonging thereunto. 

Dr. Why, thou stragglest as far out of the bonds 
of matrimony as if thou'dst a good jointure to 
justify thee in 't. There is a thing called duty, 
wife ; the parson, you may remember, said so 
when he married us. 

Isa. I no more remember what the parson said 
when he married us than what he has said ever 
since when he preached. 

Dr. The jade's mad beyond recovery; a pox of the 
liberty of the she subject ! Wife, there are five chil- 
dren by the fireside ; pray you, how many of 'em's 
mine, wife 1 1 think 'tis high time to ask that question. 

Isa. I must not be so much concerned with thee 
as to call thee husband ; therefore, Mr. Drench, the 
first child was yours. 



THE DUMB LADY. 19 

Dr. And whose are the rest ] 

Isa. The rest are mine, fellow ; let that suffice 
thee! 

Dr. And but one of them mine, wife % 

Isa. No but one yours, and for this following 
reason. After my first child, you neglected your 
family duty, Mr. Drench ; and when you grew 
negligent of me I grew careful of myself, and from 
that care came the rest of my children, Mr. Drench. 

Dr. And those four children, it seems, are free- 
born subjects 1 I find a wife a little modish is 
worse than a wife a little oldish. Wife, I'll down- 
right poison your freeborn children. 

Isa. thou ungallantified beast ! wouldst thou 
destroy thy own flesh and blood 1 

Dr. Not mine, but I will yours, wife. 

Isa. Why, are not man and wife one flesh 1 and 
then are not your children mine, and mine yours, 
Mr. Drench ? 

Dr. Faith, I doubt this argument is the general 
security that mankind has to warrant their off- 
springs legitimate. 

Isa. Sirrah, talk of poisoning my children, and 
I'll have thee so gallantified ! 

Dr. Gallantified ! Prithee what's that, wife 1 

Isa. To be gallantified is to be soundly cudgell'd, 
sirrah. There is another point of she doctrine for 
you. 

Dr. Pray you, let me ask you a question, 
madam. Nay, be not ashamed to be called madam, 
for as mean people as yourself has the impudence 
to own it. Therefore, madam, are you true to your 
gallant % 

Isa. Ay, by my life am I ! I else deserve to 
lose my privileges, and be a bondwoman, ay, and 
condemned to my own husband. 



20 THE DUMB LADY. 

Dr. That part of me that's gentleman forgives 
thee freely for that ; but the rough part, which is 
farrier, must be revenged ; and though your gal- 
lant carry your cudgel of love, I carry your cudgel 
of chastisement. I plead my privileges, wife, and 
must beat you ; take this, and that, and that, and 
this ! [Beats her. 

Isa. Help ! murder, murder ! Will you kill me, 
you villain % 

Dr. Kill you ? Alas ! this is but compliment, 
wife, and 'tis a new fashion come into the country, 
wife ; so I have it to show you that I'm one o' th' 
freeborn, wife. [Beats her again. 

Isa. Murder, murder ! help, murder ! 

Enter a Neighbour. 

Neigh. AVhat's here 1 Fie, fie, neighbour Drench ! 
Hold, for shame ! What, beating your wife % 

Isa. Ay, marry is he, sir; what's that to you 
suppose I long for a beating ] I have been getting 
him in a good humour this two months to do it, 
and now you must disturb us. 

Neigh. Nay, if you long for a beating, I'm sorry 
I disturbed you. I have done. 

Isa. You wicked fellow, do you know what 
you've done*? You have taken him off of the 
sweetest humour. I see by his looks I shall not 
get another blow off him to save my life. 

Dr. The jade is mad beyond all cure. 

Neigh. Ay, for none but a madwoman would 
long for a beating; but farewell, neighbours. I 
have done. 

Dr. You're an impertinent fellow to begin. 
Men that part rencounters are often killed or 
hurt, and therefore you ought, neighbour, to be 
soundly cudgelled. [Beats him. 



THE DUMB LADY. 21 

Nt Igh. Xay, good neighbour, hold, hold ! 

La. You see he has taken off his anger from 
me, and now you must have all the sweet blows, 
you rascal ! 

Lr. So he shall, for if I had known thou hadst 
longed for a beating, thou shouldst not have had a 
blow to Ve saved thy life ; but you shall have it. 

[Beats him again. 

Xiigh. Hold, hold, hold ! If ere I part man 
and wife, if ere I put my hand betwixt the bark 
and the tree again, may my fingers bear fruit and 
the boys rob my orchard i A woman to long for a 
beating ] What a blessing 'twere if all our wives 
would long so ! [Exit Neighbour. 

Lr. Xow I know you long for a beating, wife, 
lest vou should miscarry I'll beat you wonder- 
fully; 

Isa. Hold, hold ! my longing is over indeed. 

Lr. Is it] Why, then, I'll to the wood and 
drench a sick horse ; and by that time I return I 
hope you may come to your longing again, and 
then I shall plead the liberty of the subject, and 
claw your freeborn sides again. [Exit Drench. 

ha. To be beaten thus ! If I be not revenged, 
say I'm a woman without gall or invention. Let 
me think a little. They say when a woman means 
mischief, if she but look upon her apron-strings 
the devil will help her presently. I'll try him. 
Who is here ! 

Enter Jar vis and Softhead to her. 

Soft. We may search long enough ; the devil a 
wise man that I can find or hear of. 

Jar. Ay. but, sir, you must know there be 
several sorts of wise men ; and our business is to 
find out a wise physician. 



22 THE DUMB LADY. 

Isa. Either the proverb's false or the devil's 
very dull, for he has helped me to no invention 
yet. [Aside. 

Soft. But all the professed doctors which we take 
to be wise physicians have given her over, you see. 

Jar. Ay, but there may be skilful and wise men 
in physic that do not profess it. 

Soft. You say very true, for I was cured once 
o'th' bellyache by an old woman and a warm 
trencher, when all the doctors i' th' town had given 
me over. 

Isa. God-a-mercy, devil; I have it, i' faith ! These 
gentlemen have given me a hint for a revenge 
upon my barbarous husband. Gentlemen, I over- 
heard your discourse, and I find you are in great 
distress for a wise physician. 

Soft. What then 1 does such a country creature 
as thou know anything that's wise % 

Isa. I know not what your worship means by 
wise. 

Soft. I dare swear thou dost not, for I, that am 
a squire, scarce know myself. 

Isa. But, sir, I can help you to the most excel- 
lent physician upon earth ; but then he's a man of 
the most strangest humours. 

Soft. 'Slid, no matter for his humours, so he be 
wise ! Where is he % 

Isa. Why, in that very copse, blooding and 
drenching of a sick horse. 

Soft. Why, that's a wise farrier, not a wise phy- 
sician, woman! 

Isa. But he is a famous physician of Padua, and 
has retired himself on purpose to avoid patients. 

Soft. Then he is a fool, and no physician ; for 
the wise doctors never leave a patient whilst he 
has either breath in 's body or money in 's purse. 



THE DUMB LADY. 23 

Isa. Ay, but, sir, this is not a man that values 
money. 

Soft. Then, I say, he is not a wise man. Come 
away, Jarvis, this cannot be he we look for. 

Isa. Why, you must know, sir, he exceeds the 
world for physic ; but then his humour is to deny 
his profession, and acknowledge nothing but ignor- 
ance. Then, sir, he looks so like a farrier, that you 
would swear he were one indeed ; then he is such 
a clown. 

Jar. The greater the scholar, still the more 
clown ; and the further he is gone in learning, the 
more ignorant still in other things. 

Soft. Ay, but is he far gone in physic ] Can he 
make a dumb woman speak 1 

Isa. A dumb woman speak ! I'll undertake he 
shall provoke a dumb devil to speak. 

Soft. That's the wise man I want; pray you, 
where is he 1 

Isa. Why, sir, he is easily spoke with, but 
you'll find it wonderful difficult to get him to a 
patient. Neither gold, compliment, nor other fair 
usage could ever yet work upon him ; and yet there 
is a way to gain him. 

Soft. Heart of a horse, pox to him ! what way 
can that be 1 

Isa. A way that you'll think strange, but very 
true. He could never yet be brought to a patient 
without being rudely used and soundly cudgelled 
to it. 

Soft. Nay, by the heart of a horse, he shall want 
for no beating ! 

Isa. Ay, marry, sir, that will do it, and nothing 
else i' th' world ; yet he will carry his seeming 
simplicity so cunningly, that I hold a wager you 
come away persuaded that he is no physician. 



24 THE DUMB LADY. 

Jar. I hold a wager lie shall own it ; I'll make 
him commence doctor else with a good cudgel, I 
warrant you. But is he such a rare physician 1 

Isa. Truly, sir, but two days since he brought a 
madwoman to her wits again that was suspected 
never to have any ; nay, he has taken men's legs 
and arms off, and set 'em on sound again. 

Jar. That's beyond Surgeon's Hall ; sure he can 
conjure. 

Soft. I'll be hanged if this fellow be not a spy 
of the virtuosos, and is come hither disguised to 
betray secrets in nature. 

Jar. But does he take no other fees but beating, 
mistress 1 

Isa. Of a certain, nothing else, sir. 

Jar. I would some doctors I know could be 
brought to that : I would want no physic, nor he 
should want no fees, i' faith ! 

Isa. Gentlemen, you'll find him in the wood 
with a leather apron, and a hammer by his side, as 
if he were a real smith ; and he studies as much to 
be a farrier now as formerly a physician. And as 
his drink was altogether wine before, now, farrier- 
like, he studies all sorts of ale, and drinks them 
soundly, too. So farewell, gentlemen ; you'll find 
all things true as I have said, and my rascal, I 
hope, will be cudgelled from a farrier to a doctor. 

[Exit Isabel. 

Jar. Why, this is such an humorous physician 
as yet I have not heard of. 

Soft. 'Slid, we should have asked the woman one 
thing : it may be he delights to be beaten with one 
sort of cudgel more than another. 

Jar. We'll be so civil as to ask him that, if he 
puts us to it. But come, let us into the wood and 
find him out ! 



THE DUMB LADY. 25 

Soft. Hark ! I hear the trees burl * in the wood. 
'Slid, here's a man coming towards us; I hope 'twill 
prove the doctor. 

Jar. By mass ! he has a leather apron on, and a 
hammer by his side. 

Soft 'Tis he ! What if we cudgel him before we 
speak to him 1 

Jar. Not for the world, sir ; that would be rude 
indeed. 

Enter Dkench. 
Save you, sir. 

Dr. Save me, sir 1 Spare your compliment till 
I'm dying, and then I'll thank you for 't. 

Soft. By the heart of a horse, I like him for that ; 
for what should a man be saved for till he is dead, 
you know ? 

Jar. Sir, in short, we come, having business 
with you, to pay you all the respect and reverence 
that's due to your worship. 

Br. Bespect, reverence, and worship ! You're 
very merry, gentlemen. Pray you, sir, what part 
of me is it that you find worshipful 1 

Jar. Oh, sir, it is your virtues that we admire. 

Dr. Virtue ! I never heard the word in my life ; 
no, nor the use on 't. 

Soft. Thou speak'st like an honest man, for, by 
my troth, I see no sign of virtue about thee. 

Jar. 'Slid, you'll spoil all to be so blunt with 
him. Sir, we understand you are a great doctor. 

Dr. I understand myself to be a great horse- 
doctor, sir. 

Soft. But pray you, sir, be a man-doctor for 
my sake. By this cudgel, it will be the better for 
you, if you knew all ! 

Jar. Sir, in short, we know you to be a famous 
* Rattle. 



26 THE DUMB LADY. 

doctor of Padua, and we wish you would leave 
these abject thoughts of being a farrier, and follow 
your own worthy profession of physic. 

Dr. Now you provoke me, sir. Do you think a 
farrier inferior to a physician 1 He is the son of a 
mare that thinks a horse has not as many diseases 
as a man. 

Soft. And he is the son of a whore that thinks 
a squire has not as many diseases as a horse. And, 
friend, take heed how you make comparisons, for 
you'll have all the squires i' th' country about your 
ears upon this score. 

Dr. Country squires I shall deal well enough with, 
and I shall justify a horse has more diseases than 
a squire, and take the honour of knighthood to 
help you. 

Soft. You lie ! and for the honour of squirehood 
I'll die a virgin martyr ! [Offers to draw. 

Jar. Hold, hold, sir ! the latter end of a squire's 
argument is still quarrelling. 

Soft. Without quarrelling, then, I'll prove that 
squire and squiress have more diseases than a 
horse. 

Dr. Ay, with the diseases of their own, that 
nature never meant them, I grant you. 

Soft. And first, I prove a squiress, that is, a 
woman, may be dumb. 

Dr. And I answer, a horse cannot speak — set that 
against that. And yet I'll undertake to make a 
horse speak before you shall make a woman dumb, 
sir. 

Jar. Good squire, let us mind our business. In 
short, sir, will you own your profession % Are you 
a doctor or no % 

Dr. A pox of a doctor ! I am a downright farrier. 
I can give you a drench, or cut you for the staggers 



THE DUMB LADY. 27 

when you're drunk ; I have no more learning than 
a horse. Pray open my head, and see if you can 
find a physician there. 

Jar. Since no means but the extremity will 
make you own your profession, we will cudgel you 
with as much compliment as we can, sir. 

Soft. A cudgel is but a coarse compliment, I 
confess. 

Dr. Hey, good boys, i' faith ! What a devil mean 
you, gentlemen? 

Jar. Squire, do you strike the first blow. 

Soft. No ; do you, Jarvis, for the first blow will 
bear an action, you know; and thou'rt a poor 
fellow, he can recover nothing of thee. 

Dr. What a devil's the matter % 

Jar. Fall on, fall on ! Will you confess you 're a 
doctor ? [Beats him. 

Dr. Hold, hold, hold ! I will be a physician ! 

Jar. Will you own you are one, sir ? 

[Beats him again. 

Dr. I am one, I am one ! Hold, I am a very good 
physician ; I feel I am. 

Enter Isabel. 

Isa. Yes, gentlemen, he is a rare physician; and 
would confess it, too, but that he would not lose 
the pleasure of a cudgel, for once a week he longs 
for a beating. Now you and I are even, sir. 

[Exit Isabel. 

Dr. A pox upon you, is this your design % I'll 
be revenged, you jade, to the purpose. If I should 
say she is my wife, and that I'm a very blacksmith, 
they'd not believe me ; 'twere but the way to be 
cudgelled again. 

Jar. Nay, come, sir. What ! are you falling into 
a relapse again 1 



28 



THE DUMB LADY. 



Dr. No, no; hold ! As the woman says, I am a 
doctor. 

Jar. Ay, and so famous, that you can take off 
broken limbs and set them on sound again. 

Dr. Well, I will own all this rather than have 
my bones broken. And, now I remember, you 
fetched me once before out of this great wood, in 
Plato's great year, as my master called it. 

Soft. Pray you, sir, how long is that since % 

Dr. Why, next strawberry time, it will be com- 
plete six-and-thirty thousand years. 

Jar. Ho, boy ! 

Dr. Ay, and I remember I poisoned somebody 
at your request. 

Jar. No, sir, I do not remember that. 

Dr. But I do, sir; by the same token you gave 
me a hundred pieces for a bribe, tied up in a laced 
handkerchief. 

Jar. I remember now as well as can be. 

Soft. But I do not remember I hired him to 
poison anybody, nor do I remember I'm six-and- 
thirty thousand years old. A pox of your Plato's 
great year, and his little year too ! 

Jar. Pray, sir, remember your mistress will 
ne'er be cured else. 

Soft Nay, rather than so, I will remember any- 
thing. 

Jar. Look you there, sir ; you see we both re- 
member ; therefore, I pray you, go with us to cure 
a distressed lady. 

Dr. My business in physic is killing, not curing, 
I assure you ; for as there is your man-tailor and 
your woman-tailor, so there is your killing doctor 
and your curing doctor — distinct professions, I 
assure you. 

Jar. But, sir, you must own curing as well as 



THE DUMB LADY. 29 

killing, or else we shall court you with a cudgel 
again. 

Soft. As we did in Plato's great year, you know, 
Jarvis. 

Dr. I do not remember that ye beat me then. 

Soft. But I remember it; by the same token you 
gave me my laced handkerchief back when you 
had put the gold in your pocket. 

Dr. Now I do remember. Hold, hold ! 

[Offers to beat him. 
I do own curing, and, since there is no remedy, I 
confess I am a doctor ; but if all men should take 
their degrees as I have done, we should have but 
small commencements. I once served a mounte- 
bank, and have some of his canting terms, and for 
aught I know, may prove as good a physician as 
if I'd served an apprenticeship at Padua. Well, 
gentlemen, what disease is it I must cure % 

Soft. You must help a lady that is dumb, and 
has lost her speech. 

Dr. How ! dumb, and lost her speech too ! That's 
a great work. If she had only lost her speech, I 
could have cured her, or if she had been but dumb ; 
but to be dumb and speechless too, her case is very 
desperate. Would I'd my wife and all the neigh- 
bourhood at that lock ! 

Jar. But we must entreat your utmost skill, for 
'tis a sad thing for a woman to be speechless. 

Dr. Ay, and dumb ; but 'tis a sadder thing for 
a man to be a fool, for certainly he is a changeling 
that has a dumb wife and would have her speak 
again. Are you in love with a woman's sting 1 

Jar. Why do you call it a sting, sir 1 

Dr. Because, sir, a woman has no tongue ; 
they're tongues in men's mouths, but they're 
called stings in women. 



30 THE DUMB LADY. 

Jar. But, sir, this lady never spoke an angry 
word — not so much as to a servant ! 

Br. But she will do if I cure her, for I've an 
unlucky hand that way; yet for her sweet disposi- 
tion's sake I'll preserve her. And now I'll answer 
to the name of doctor with as much confidence as 
a quack dressed up in all his ignorance. 

Soft. Will ignorance make men confident 1 
'Slid, would I'd a little ignorance too ! 

Jar. Ay, if you had but a little, 'twere very well, 
sir. 

Br. Let me see how to behave myself like a 
doctor, now. I will first take your mistress by the 
pulse, and look up gravely at the ceiling all the 
while ; then ask what she took last, and when 
she'd a stool, — and there's half a doctor's work. 
Then I'll prescribe something that will neither do 
hurt nor good, so leave her to luck; and there's 
the other half of the doctor. Then, to amuse the 
people, I'll give her the powder of a dried dock- 
leaf with apothecaries' hard name to it; and if 
that will not mend her, I'll give her a drench, 
for women have sturdy stomachs, and why not as 
strong of constitution as horses 1 

Soft. Heart of a horse, thou'rt a delicate mad 
doctor ! Sirrah, wilt thou give her a drench 1 

Br. Why, a drench is a potion, and a potion is 
a drench ; only the distinction is, when you put it 
into a horn, then 'tis a drench for a horse ; and 
when you put it into a vial-glass, 'tis a potion for a 
man. Nay, I'll discover all their cheats. 

Come, my Squire Softhead, never fear thy 
wench, 

She shall be cured by learned Dr. Drench. 



the dumb lady. 31 

Act ii. — Scene i. 
Enter Gernette, Softhead, Jarvis, and Nurse. 

Ger. And is he so famous a physician, say you 1 

Jar. Why, sir, Esculapius, as you call him, is a 
mere mountebank to him. 

Soft. Ay, and that fellow Galen Hippocrates, as 
you call him, not worthy to be his apothecary. 
He can conjure, for he'll cure a wooden leg, make 
it flesh and blood, and set you up sound again ! 

Jar. Nay, if he like your pulse, he'll give you a 
lease of your life for term of years. 

Nur. I would he would give me three lives in 
mine, and begin them all at fifteen again. 

Jar. Is not one life sufficient to make a man a 
cuckold, but you'd have three to do it in 1 

Nur. Yes, because I'd make thee a monster, 
that my child and I may live upon showing thee. 

Ger. You talk of wonders • I long to see him. 

Jar. He is i'th' next room, sir; but 'tis the 
maddest doctor, and of the strangest humours. 

Soft. So he is, for, by the heart of a horse, we 
were fain to bribe him with a cudgel before he 
would own being a doctor. 

Nur. A downright sir reverence of a doctor ! I 
say, get her a worthy husband, and say I told you 
so. 

Ger. You're a foolish woman, and talk of that 
you understand not. 

Nur. Understand not 1 Sure I should know what 
a woman wants as well as you. I say again, a pox 
of your doctor ! get her a good husband ! A plaster 
of true love clapped to her will do her more good 
than senna or rhubarb. 



32 THE DUMB LADY. 

Ger. Did I not provide her a good husband 1 
Was she not to marry the Squire here 1 

Nur. A precious morsel of him ! How came 
you to be a Squire, with a pox, with your soft head, 
and your little head, and your no head at all 1 

Soft. Bear witness, she says I have no head at 
all! 

Nur. Thou mayest take it and throw it to the 
dogs for any brains there's in 't. 

Soft. I will not call you whore, gentlewoman, 
but, by the heart of a horse, your husband's a 
cuckold ; and he is not only an English cuckold, 
but also an Italian cuckold — that is to say, he is a 
cuckold both before and behind. 

Nur. Sirrah, cudgel him, or lie in the truckle- 
bed all thy life ! 

Jar. I'll rather cudgel thee, for I believe every 
word he says. 

Nur. For shame ! Proffer her a husband of her 
own choosing. Let her have Leander ! 

Ger. She shall never be his Hero. 

Nur. If she perish in the Hellespont, at your 
peril ! 

Ger. Hellespont 1 — how came you by that fine 
word? 

Nur. Honestly enough. 

Jar. As honestly as you came by your child, I 
think. 

Nur. I have seen Mr. Hellespont in a puppet- 
show, and Hero, and Leander too. 

Ger. Talk no more of Leander, I know him not ; 
but whoe'er he be, he is not to be compared with 
the Squire here for wealth. 

Nur. Is your Squire boobe, loobe, poope, to 
stand with Leander for parts and person ? 

Ger. Do you know his parts ? 



THE DUMB LADY. 33 

Nur. No, but I have heard of him and his parts. 

Soft Grant me patience, for I have much ado to 
forbear calling you whore, forsooth ! 

Nur. Do, if thou dar'st ! Is wealth to be named 
the same day with love 1 I scorn that comparison, 
though I'm o' th' wrong side o' th' teens, i' faith. 

Ger. Hast thou any sense of the fopperies of 
love left] 

Nur. Dost thou call sweet love foppery 1 Though 
thou'rt my master, thou'rt a beast. Go, go to 
bed and die ; what dost thou in this world % Let 
the doctors give him physic ; nobody else has need 
on't! 

Jar. You 're very bold with your master, wife. 

Nur. He has been as bold with me ; let that 
suffice you, husband. I have so fresh in my 
memory the sweet effects of love, that I wonder 
mankind should be such beasts as to forget it. 

Ger. Go, give your child suck, for that's your 
talent, and meddle no more. 

Jar. That's another sign 'tis none of my child, 
for why should he be so careful to have the child 
suck if it were not his own 1 

Soft. Look you, friend, your wife has abus'd me, 
and 'tis not civil to call her whore to her own face ; 
but I tell thee to thy face she is a whore rampant, 
and in heraldry thou 'rt a cuckold passant. 

Jar. Ay, sir, and my wants make me a cuckold 
couchant, or I'd ne'er endure it. 

Soft. Oh, here come's our delicate, humoursome 
doctor, i' faith ! 

Enter Doctor. 

Ger. Squire, go bid them make my daughter 
ready to receive the Doctor. 

Soft. I do not care to go, for she has her wild 
C 



34 THE DUMB LADY. 

Irish chambermaid, that always calls me Squire 
Pogemihone, and then laughs at me. 

Ger. Pray you, go, sir. You 're very welcome, 
sir ; I have very much desired to see you. 

[Exit Softhead. 

Dod. Hippocrates says, I pray you be covered. 

Ger. Pray you, in what chapter of Hippocrates 
does he bid you be covered 1 

Dod. In the first chapter of keeping your head 
warm. 

Ger. A pleasant gentleman, and I love his 
humour. But, sir, concerning my daughter, who 
is very sick, sir 

Boot. I am very glad on 't, sir ; and I would you 
and your whole family were sick, lame, or blind, 
that I might have the honour to cure you. 

Ger. Why, this is the strangest doctor. He had 
need of good parts to bear out his humours. 

Dod. And now, sir, I pray you, what's your 
daughter's name % 

Ger. Olinda, sir, at your service. 

Dod. Olinda ! a pretty name to be cured. 

Ger. Sir, I'll see if my daughter be ready to 
come forth to you. [Exit Gernette. 

Dod. Your servant, sir ; and what woman is 
that, I pray you 1 

Jar. The nurse of the house, sir. 

Dod. By'r lady, a pretty piece of household 
stuff, and a fine ornament for a couch. I do salute 
you, nurse, and I would I were that happy suck- 
ling that shall draw down the milk of your favour 
and affection, nurse. 

Jar. Her pulse beats not thereabouts, sir ! 
Hands off, for she's my wife, sir ! 

Dod. I cry you mercy, sir. I congratulate you 
for having so handsome a wife, and your wife for 



THE DUMB LADY. 35 

having so worthy a husband. Your breasts, sweet 
nurse 

Jar. Pray you, hold, sir ! Half this courtesy 
would serve. 

Bod. Worthy sir, I cannot declare enough how 
much I'm your servant ! Delicate breasts, nurse. 
[His hands upon her breasts still. 

Nur. At your service. 

Jar. Oh, devil take you, sir ; let my wife's breasts 
alone ! 

Doct. Sweet sir, I must see her breasts ; it is the 
doctor's duty to look to the nurse's milk. 

Jar. You shall not look to her milk ; I'll look 
to your water for that, sir ! 

Doct. You will not hinder me from following 
my profession. Alas ! I must not only feel her 
breasts, but I must know whether she be with 
child or no. 

Jar. Sir, my wife is not with child. 

Bod. But she must be with child. What say'st 
thou, Nurse 1 ? 

Nur. If your worship think it be for my health, 
sir. 

Bod. Thou wilt die in a week, else. 

Nur. Do you hear that 1 

Jar. A pox of your mountebanking, sir ! My 
wife is sound and well, and shall have no doctor. 

Bod. Sir, I know you're a man of sense, and I 
beseech you hear reason. A sweet nurse ! 

Nur. Oh, dear Doctor ! 

Jar. A pox of your sense and reason ! Give me 
my wife, sir ! 

Bod. But, sir, I'm from home, and want a 
woman. I hope you'll be civil to a stranger; 
if you come my way, I'll be as kind to you, 
sir. 



36 THE DUMB LADY. 

Jar. The devil take your kindness ! Give me my 
wife. 

Bod. Give me a reason for 't ; for look you, sir, 
your wife is either with child, or else she has a 
tympany. Nurse, show me your legs, they may 
be swelled and dropsical ; a sweet woman may be 
cast away here for want of a little looking to. 

Jar. Let my wife's legs alone, or I'll downright 
thrust you out o' th' room ! 

Bod. Sir, I find you're choleric; but I'll give 
you a purge shall make you so patient, that if you 
saw me lie with your wife you should not have so 
much gall left as would make an angry line in 
your face. 

Nur. Now, good husband, take physic. 

Bod. God-a-mercy, Nurse ! 

Nur. In troth, sir, he is always so fretful, and 
so cholericly jealous ! 

Jar. I'll make you an example ! 

Bod. Such another word, and I'll put thee in a 
fever, and keep thee in't a year. I tell thee, 
fellow, thy wife is not well, and I will give her a 
gentle gentile glister. Prithee be sick, Nurse. 

Nur. Yes, sir, I am sick ; and if you please you 
shall give me a gentle gentile, as you call it. 

Jar. You are no more sick than I am, housewife ! 

Nur. Sure the doctor knows better than you or 
I whether I be sick or no ; and I find I am sick, 
and I do so long for a gentle gentile what d'ye 
call it 1 

Jar. My master is coming, or I'd give you such 
a gentle gentile ! 

Enter old Gernette, his Daughter led in ly 
Servants, and Squire Softhead. 

Ger. Sir, I have brought my daughter; and I 



THE DUMB LADY. 37 

beseech your best care of her, for the world's gone 
with me if she die. 

Doct. Hold, sir ! People do not die so easily 
without the help of a physician. 

Ger. A notable droll, and puts me in great com- 
fort. 

Doct. Is this she 1 A very pretty patient, and one 
a man may venture on in sickness or in health. 
Come on, sir, let me feel your pulse ! 

Ger. I am not sick, sir. 

Doct. But your daughter is, therefore give me 
your pulse. Why, by your pulse, I find your 
daughter is dumb ! 

Nur. Oh dear ! how he hits on 't ! 

Jar. Hits on 't ? You'd be hit on 't too, would 
you ? He may thank his knowing on 't before. 

Ger. But, sir, 'tis strange that you should know 
my daughter's disease by my pulse. 

Doct. Sympathy does it. I find you have no 
faith here in the sympathetical powder, therefore 
cannot know our sympathetical way of practice. 
When any man or woman is sick in Greenland, 
they always send the next of kin to the doctor ; 
and by that pulse the disease is known and the 
patient cured. 

Soft. Pray, Doctor, feel whether I be dumb or 
no. 

Nur. Let me feel your pulse, husband. Oh, I 
am sick, and the Doctor must physic me, or I die ! 

Jar. The devil has found a new way to make a 
cuckold. 

Ger. But what may be the cause, think you, of 
her dumbness 1 

Doct. Why, sir, according to the sense of Aris- 
totle 

Ger. Aristotle was a philosopher, sir. 



38 THE DUMB LADY. 

Doct. Ay, and a physician too ; I know what I 
say. Heart ! I had like to have been gravell'd ! 
I say again, according to the sense of Hippocrates. 

Ger. Ay, marry, sir, he was a physician indeed. 

Doct. Ay, and a philosopher too ; therefore no 
matter which of their opinions I take. 

Jar. By my troth, I think so too. 

Doct. And therefore, as I said at first, according 
to the sense of Aristotle, women are dumb because 
they cannot speak. 

Nur. A sweet doctor ! I always thought so, in- 
deed. 

Jar. Have you tasted of his sweetness, you 
quean 1 

Nur. Not yet, but I hope I shall do, you rogue ! 

Ger. But, sir, are there many reasons for dumb- 
ness in a woman % 

Doct. Several, sir. A woman may be dumb 
when she has no mind to speak; and she may 
speak when nobody has a mind to hear her. This 
is natural philosophy, now. 

Ger. Why, you speak as if it were sullenness in 
their sex, and not a defect in nature, nor other 
accident. 

Doct. I do so. In some romance, perhaps, you 
may have read of a woman's being dumb ; but sure 
no man seriously ever heard of a woman that could 
not speak. 

Nur. He is i' th' right, i' faith ; this is the doctor 
of doctors, i' faith. 

Jar. Again the Doctor % I would he were hung 
about thy neck ! 

Nur. By my troth, so would I, to determine thy 
jealousy ! 

Ger. But pray you, sir, why should you think a 
woman cannot be dumb ? 



THE DUMB LADY. 39 

Doct. Why, sir, your men that have endeavoured 
to find out the perpetual motion have come near 
it, I confess, with their clocks and pendulums ; 
but Aristotle says, Fix a dial-plate to a woman's 
mouth, and if the perpetual motion be not there, 
let them never hope to find it ; and if it be there, 
'tis infallible a woman cannot be dumb. 

Enter a Footboy. 

Boy. Squire, forsooth, here is a letter. 

Soft. A good boy ! Squire and forsooth does 
well together ; they're very suitable. But hold ! 
this letter is not big enough to have business in 't, 
nor little enough to be a challenge. Heart of a 
horse, a downright challenge ! — [Reads the letter] — 
and if he be as stout as Hercules, I'll fright him 
out on 's fighting, or he shall fright me ! 

Ger. But touching the cause of my child's dis- 
ease, sir. [Exit Softhead. 

Doct Why, you must know, her dumbness may 
proceed from the string-holt. 

Ger. The string-holt ! Why, that's a disease one 
of my horses has now in the stable. 

Doct. I grant you, sir ; but we of Padua call a 
lameness in the tongue the string-holt, from that 
very string which you call the greedy worm. — A 
pox on me, I shall betray myself a farrier ! — [Aside.] 
— And this dumbness proceeds from a contraction 
or shrinking of that nerve or string, which shrink- 
ing proceeds from stomachous fumigations, which 
proceed from certain exhalations or influence of 
the stars, called in Arabic — do you understand 
Arabic ? 

Ger. Not a word — not I, sir. 

Doct. A gentleman, and not speak Arabic ! Why, 
where have you been bred ? 



40 THE DUMB LADY. 

Ger. I neither speak Arabic, Latin, nor any 
language but my mother tongue. 

Bod. What blessed luck is this for me ! How 
shall I do to explain it to you, then % For optimum 
purgamentum, cantaridem, venetreclum — do ye 
conceive me, sir 1 ? — vinum cum drammum, scirra- 
moucha scrupulum ; and this is just your daughter's 
case, sir. 

Nur. Hoboy, Doctor! he claws it away with 
Latin, i' faith ! 

Jar. Still commending the Doctor ? You'd have 
him claw you away with Latin too, would you not, 
you jade % 

Nur. Ay, faith, or with Greek either, you knave ! 

Ger. Sure he's a learned man, if one could 
understand him. Pray you, if you please, state 
her case in English. 

Bod. Why, this is worse than all the rest. 
Why, you must know, sir, that the vapours passing 
from the right side, where lies the heart, unto the 
left, where lies the liver, the lungs, which in Latin 
we call Armion, having communication with the 
brain, which in Greek we call Nazmathon, by 
intermedium of the Vena cava, which in Hebrew 
we call Rabshack, and in Arabic Helgoshob 

-Nur. Thou beast ! when wilt thou know Eab- 
shack and Helgoshob 1 most divine Doctor ! 

Jar. Divine ! Is it come to divinity now 1 Why, 
then, you hope to be saved by him 1 

Nur. I'll venture with him into Rabshack and 
Helgoshob, whate'er befalls me. 

Ger. Ragshag ? Sir, I understand these tongues 
less than Latin. 

Bod. I'm sorry for 't, sir ; did you but know 
the sweet sound of Hebrew and Arabic, you 
would never speak your mother tongue again. 




THE DUMB LADY. 41 

Ger. Sir, I like your discourse well, only where 
you say the heart lies on the right side and the 
liver on the left, which is contrary to all anatomists 
I ever heard of. 

Doct. How shall I answer this 1 Pox on him, he 
makes me sweat ! — Why, sir, it is true that in time 
of health the heart lies on the left side, and in 
most diseases too ; but in dumbness, the heart by 
some strong passion being turned and whirled to 
the right side, till by art it be returned and 
whirled back to the left, neither man nor woriian 
can possibly speak ; and that is the positive cause 
of all dumbness. 

Nur. dear Doctor, I cry still ! 

Jar. Is it come to dear Doctor, now 1 Is he your 
dear, you whore ? 

Nur. He is not yet, but he shall be, you cuckold ! 

Jar. Cuckold ! Remember this. 

Nur. I do remember thou art one, and I will 
remember to continue thee so. 

Ger. Sir, I am well satisfied. Now, if you please, 
let us proceed to the cure of my daughter. 

Doct. Oh, there's the point ! Why, there be 
several ways to cure, and twice as many ways to 
kill ; for we learned physicians with too much 
study have likely a worm in our heads, and when 
that worm wriggles the mind alters, so that we 
change our fashions as much in physic as the 
court and gentry do their clothes. But come, get 
my patient to her bed, and when she's warm give 
her a lusty dose of sops and wine. 

Ger. How ! sops and wine ! Sure that will make 
her drunk, sir. 

Doct. The better, sir ; for when people are 
drunk, they are apt to speak their minds. I work 
by natural causes. You see by the virtue of 



42 THE DUMB LADY. 

cakes and wine how women tattle at a gossiping. 
No man ever knew a dumb woman at a christen- 
ing or a gossiping but she talked before she went 
away. 

Nur. The Doctor's i' th' right, I'll be sworn ; I 
know it by experience. brave Doctor ! 

Jar. Brave Doctor ! I' faith, proclaim your love 
with him. 

Nur. By my troth, so I will, with the first 
opportunity. 

Dod. So lead her to bed, and let Nurse drink 
with her to countenance her. 

Nur. I will indeed, Mr. Doctor ; I will be sure 
to obey your commands. 

Dod. And when you have drunk smartly, bring 
me word how it works, Nurse. 

Jar. You shall be hanged first, Doctor. 

Dod. And be sure, Nurse, come alone still ; for 
you know she may have something to say to me 
that is not fit for her husband to hear. 

Jar. A pox on you ! must my master pimp for 
you too 1 

Ger. Pray you take your fee, sir. 

Dod. By no means ; no cure no money with me, 
sir. But pray you be careful of my patient, and be 
sure to send Nurse still to me. 

Jar. I must be a cuckold, and cannot avoid it. 

Ger. Sir, I shall send to you, but perhaps not 
Nurse. 

Jar. So my master is jealous of her as well as I ! 
Now 'tis plain he got my child. How many points 
o' th' compass am I a cuckold 1 

Dod. I hope I shall make that rogue mad for 
beating me. 

Nur. Your servant, Mr. Doctor. 

Dod. Your servant, Nurse. [Exeunt. 



THE DUMB LADY. 43 



Enter Leander and Ms Footboy. 

Lea. Boy, did Squire Softhead receive my note 
so cheerfully ? 

1 Boy. Yes, sir ; and withal he told me he won- 
dered that he heard not sooner from you, being, 
you know, he was to marry your mistress. 

Lea. Is he so brave 1 I shall the better digest 
my ruin if I find honour in him ; yet he with all 
his merits can never deserve her. Tis strange if 
he should fight, for they say he is a very ass. Oh, 
here he comes ! 

Enter Softhead and Ms Boy. 

Soft. Sirrah, yonder he is ; will you be sure to 
do as I bid you ] 

2 Boy. Yes, I warrant your worship. 

Soft. Just when you see my vest off, that's your 
time. 

2 Boy. I'll be sure to do it, sir. 

Lea. Save you, sir. 

Soft. Damn you, sir, why 1 "Why the pox save 
me, sir 1 ? 

Lea. Because your poor servant hath an occasion 
to kill you and send you to heaven. But why 
damn me, sir ? 

Soft. Because your poor servant hath an occasion 
to kill you and send you to hell, sir. 

Lea. This is uncharitable language from a dying 
man, as you are, sir. 

Soft. I scorn dying ; I've an estate will keep me 
alive in spite of a duel, sir. I scorn but to be very 
charitable. Where wilt thou be buried, fellow *? 

Lea. Let me be killed first, I pray you. 

Soft. Nay, by the heart of a horse, doubt not 
that, sir ! And if you'll have a tombstone over you, 



44 



THE DUMB LADY. 



write your inscription, and my stonecutter shall do 
it. Nay, I scorn but to be charitable, sir. 

Lea. Good rich Squire, make your will, for die 
you must. 

Soft. What a pox should I kill thee for, that has 
nothing to leave me for my pains ? 

Lea. Now you are not civil, sir. 

Soft. I scorn but to be as civil as any man ! 

Lea. You shall find me so too, for I'll see you 
buried in the flaxen your grandam spun herself, 
and left your worship for a winding-sheet. 

Soft. And I'll be as civil to you, sir, for I'll see 
you buried in flannel. And, sir, to show myself 
civil, if you have a mind not to fight at this wea- 
pon, I'll stay till you choose another ; nay, if you 
have a mind not to fight at all, for civility's sake 
I'll have no mind to fight at all neither — I scorn 
to be behindhand in civility ! 

Lea. Now, no more words, sir, but strip and 
take your fortune. 

Soft. Pull off, boy ! And, sir, I must have you 
know that I long as much to go out of this world 
honourably as you to stay in it honourably. 

2 Boy. This is my cue, I take it. 

[Softhead's Boy runs away with his master's 
sword. 

Soft. And to show you I kill you, sir, merely 
upon honour, and not upon malice, I lovingly em- 
brace you, sir. 

Lea. Embrace an ass ! Leave your fencer's 
tricks, and take you to your sword, sir ! 

Soft. Then a pox on you, sir ! and give me my 
trusty swOrd, boy ! How ! the rogue is run away, 
and with my sword, too ! Why, sirrah rascal, come 
back, you treacherous rogue ! Come, this must be 
your plot, sir, to hire my boy to run away with my 



THE DUMB LADY. 45 

sword, sir. Why, rogue, traitor to my honour, 
come back ! 

Lea. This shall not serve your turn, Squire ; my 
boy shall run and overtake him, I'll warrant you. 

Soft. I scorn to be beholding to you or your boy, 
sir. I'll run and overtake him myself, sir ; and I 
charge you upon honour to stay till I come back, 
sir. [Be runs off as fast as he can. 

Lea. This is the newest coward I have known ! 
He has cozen'd me, for, as I live, I thought he 
would have fought, for he bore it up to the very 
point of danger. Sirrah, there's a vest for you, 
and run after him and cudgel him till he be all 
over black and blue ! 

1 Boy. You could not have put me upon a better 
employment, sir. [Exit Boy. 

Enter Doctor. 

Doct. By your favour, sir, I was looking out at 
my window, and as I thought I saw a duel towards, 
so I came. 

Lea. To prevent it ] 

Doct. No, by my troth, sir ; my business is not 
to prevent wounds, but to cure 'em. Where is the 
other that fought you % Nounze, you have made 
quick despatch ; have you killed him and buried 
him already 1 

Lea. No ; he is gone very safe, and no wound 
about him but that of his honour. 

Doct. Was it not Squire Softhead, sir 1 

Lea. It was so, sir; and how he has behaved 
himself you shall know anon. But, sir, I guess 
you are the doctor that undertakes the Dumb Lady] 

Doct. I am so, sir. 

Lea. You're happily come, sir, for I have earnest 
business with you. 



46 THE DUMB LADY. 

Doct. Why, ay, the dulness of your eye shows 
you have — let's see, let's see — a very dangerous and 
highflying pulse. 

Lea. I am not sick, sir. 

Doct. You are loth to confess. Come, I see you 
have a clap, sir. 

Lea. By my honour, not I, sir. 

Doct. Do not let it go too far; modesty has 
spoiled one-half of the town gallants, and too much 
confidence the other half, so that there's no hopes 
of any of you. 

Lea. If you please, sir, I shall acquaint you with 
my business. My name, sir, is Leander ; perhaps 
you may have heard of me. 

Doct. I have heard of a naval knight called Sir 
Hero Leander ; are you the man, I pray you 1 

Lea. You are merry, sir, but my affair is serious. 
You have a dumb lady your patient to whom I am 
a servant, and she, sir, has an equal love for me. 
Now, being by her father barred of all means of 
coming together 

Doct. You would have me do it, and so pimp for 
you? 

Lea. Not pimp, sir ; but I would fain oblige you 
to befriend us. 

Doct. Befriend us 1 a modest phrase for pimping. 
I begin to find that physic is but one part of a 
doctor's trade ; and I shall gain the character of 
Chaucer's seamstress, for says he, 

" She keeps a shop for countenance, 
But bawdeth for her sustenance." 

So I shall physic give for countenance, 

But pimping' s my chief maintenance. 

Lea. Sir, I know you may bring me to the 
speech of her. I mean.no pimping, sir. 

Doct. Whatever you mean, the thing is the 



THE DUMB LADY. 47 

same, sir; for how can I help you to the speech of 
her but I must bring you together 1 And if I bring 
you together, what's that but pimping, sir ] 

Lea. But I mean in the way of honesty, sir. 

Doct. Honesty 1 Indeed I have heard 'twill make 
men rich and brave, but I never heard of honesty 
in the case before. Sir, the profession will not 
bear it. And would you make a pimp of a phy- 
sician 1 most horrible indignity ! 

Lea. Pray you, sir, be pacified, and let this show 
you that I can be grateful. [Gives him a purse. 

Doct. Is there a fee belonging to that part of a 
doctor too 1 I begin now to think that pimping is 
no such scandalous thing as malicious men report 
it. Sir, you have given me such strong reasons to 
think so well on 't, that I believe none rail at it 
but such as would be glad of the employment 
themselves. And, sir, as you call it, I will help 
you to the speech of her, or befriend you, or pimp 
for you. 

Lea. Your servant, sir. I must now reveal a 
secret to you. You must know, sir, the lady 
feigns this dumbness for love of me, and to avoid 
marriage with this Squire Softhead. 

Doct. I knew there was some trick in 't. 'Twere 
impossible else, either by nature, art, or misfortune, 
a woman should be dumb ; for take a woman's 
tongue, and pluck it up by the roots, I'm sure in an 
hour another would grow i'th' room on't. But 
come, sir ; you shall shift you, and pass for my 
apothecary. 

Lea. That I think an excellent way, and nothing 
better. 

Doct. We cannot miss to cure her now. I shall 
get credit as I am her physician, and money as I 
am your bringer together, or your pimping friend. 



48 THE DUMB LADY. 

Thus shall I be your advocate and protector. 

[Ring. 
And venerably called both bawd and doctor. 



Act hi. — Scene i. 
Enter Doctor, and Leander like an apothecary. 

Lea. This habit will pass me for an apothecary; 
I only want some of their canting phrases. 

Doct. Why, faith, you are as well qualified for 
an apothecary as I am for a physician. You have 
trusted me with your heart, and now I'll trust you 
with my simplicity. I am no doctor, but was 
forced to own being one — why and how I'll tell you 
hereafter ; but having served a mountebank, that 
and my great share in impudence has made me 
famous. 

Lea. Is it possible impudence should have such 
virtuous effects 1 

Doct. Yes ; yet some men rail at impudence, and 
speak it vicious, when the jest is, they that rail 
most at it make most use on 't. 'Tis doubtless the 
greatest blessing in the world, and most men do 
their business by it. 

Lea. But if you be so ignorant, sure impudence 
should not bear you out, especially in this learned 
profession. 

Doct. Oh, sir, it is the securest cloak for ignor- 
ance of all arts ! Other professions are liable to 
miscarriages and questionable ; but the physician 
may kill from the fool to the senator, from the 
beggar to the blood-royal, and ne'er be called in 
question ; the dead was never so uncivil yet as to 



THE DUMB LADY. 49 

come out o'th' other world to complain of the 
physician. 

Lea. 'Tis a sign they're civilly used where they 
are. But do you not study at all 1 

Doct. It needs not, for the great studj?- of physic 
is come to nothing now but letting blood ; and it 
falls out well for me, that am a downright farrier. 

Lea. How ! is your real profession a farrier ] 

Doct. . Yes, faith ; and with the same fleams I 
let horse's blood I use my patients to ; and the 
horse's drench is the potion I give to men ; and I 
cure more than I kill, so that I am the only 
doctor that has found out horse and man to be of 
one constitution. 

Lea. But how comes letting of blood so much in 
fashion ? 

Doct. Oh, sir, 'tis a la mode Paris. If your corn 
does but ache against rain, what says the doctor % 
Let him blood. Nay, if you be troubled in con- 
science, they'll let you blood for that too. 

Lea. They let not blood for the small-pox, I 
hope? 

Doct. But they do ; and 'tis the opinion of 
Padua that 'tis as sure a way to kill as an old 
woman and saffron is to cure. 

Lea. How came you by that velvet coat % 

Enter a Seaman's Wife, a Countryman with an 
urinal, and an Apprentice with an urinal, with 
other Patients. 

Doct. Oh, here come patients ! Mark my con- 
fidence. — [They press to the Doctor. .] — Good people, 
one at once ; let the woman be served first. Now, 
woman, what want you 1 

Wife. That that nobody can help me to, the 
worse luck, sir. I am a seaman's wife, sir, that 

D 



50 THE DUMB LADY. 

has been married this dozen years, and I have 
never a child ; and please you, and I would fain 
have a child, sir. 

Bod. And wouldst thou have me get it 1 

Wife. I would fain have your worship give me 
something that will, sir. 

Bod. By my troth, I have nothing about me at 
this time can do it. Why, look thou send thy 
husband to sea ; that often makes the wife fruitful. 

Wife. Alack, sir, I have tried all ways, both by 
sea and land, and nothing will help me ! 

Bod. I do prescribe thee a lusty wine-porter, 
and he shall be thy gallant. 

Wife. And it please your worship, I have tried 
your gallant, and your top-gallant, and your top- 
and-top-gallant, and all will do no good, sir. 

Bod. By my troth, go try the mainyard too, and 
if that fail thee, thou'rt a barren woman of a 
certain ; but come i' th' evening to me ! after a 
glass of wine I may have something to help thee. 

[Exit Woman. 

Coun. And it please your worship, I am a poor 
man. 

Bod. I have never a medicine for that disease. 
Prithee begone, fellow. 

Coun. My wife, and it please you, lies danger- 
ously sick. 

Bod. If thou be'st poor, trouble thyself no fur- 
ther ; she'll die of a certain. But art thou so poor 
thou canst not come to the point 1 

Coun. I would entreat your worship to visit her ; 
and here's an old angel for you. 

Bod. This is but one of the points ; there's two- 
and-thirty in the compass, fellow. However, I'll 
come see her. She rules the roast when she has 
her health, does she not 1 



THE DUMB LADY. 51 

Coun. Ay, but too much, to my sorrow, sir. 

Bod. Thou hast a stable, hast thou not 1 

Coun. Yes, and it please you. 

Bod. Then take me your wife, and tie her up to 
the rack-staves ; and be sure you give her no hay, 
for I mean to blood her and drench her. 

Coun. Why, sir, that's as I serve my horse when 
he is sick ! 

Bod. But I know thou'rt a henpecked fellow, 
and such women as do command in chief I physic 
them as I do horses, and all little enough, too ; but 
first take her and ride her off on her legs. 

Coun. That's more than I, and your worship to 
help me, can do, sir. But I hope j~our worship 
will come. [Exit Countryman. 

Bod. Yes, yes. What are you, sir 1 

Trent. A prentice, sir, that has brought my 
mistress' water, sir. 

Bod. Has your mistress ne'er a maid, but she 
must send her water by her prentice % A foolish 
custom ; I cannot break 'em on 't. Let me see; but 
are you sure this is your mistress' water % 

Prent. Yes, and it please your worship. 

Bod. How sure are you ? Did you see her make 
it? 

Prent. I did not see her make it, but, and it 
please you, I heard her make it. 

Bod. Why, I find by thy mistress' water, 
friend, that thou art almost out of thy time. 

Prent. Yes, truly, within three months, and it 
please you. 

Bod. I knew it. Why, here is twenty visible 
things in this water ! Your master is out of town 
about a purchase, is he not 1 

Prent. Yes, and it please your worship. 

Bod. And you are removed out o' th' garret to 



5.2 THE DUMB LADY. 

lie in the next room to your mistress, to keep 
spirits from her, are you not 1 

Prent. By my troth, and so I am, and it please 
your worship. 

Doct. The water shows it plainly. Hold ! ha ! 
I find your mistress is apt to dream much, and is 
frighted, and walks in her sleep, and comes to 
your chamber to be awakened, does she not % 

Prent. By my truly, she has been so troubled 
with these frights since my master's absence that 
I have never had a good night's rest since he went ; 
for she'll come in her sleep and throw herself upon 
my bed, and then I lie as still as can be, and then 
she rises like a madwoman, and throws all the 
clothes off, and makes such work with me that 
I'm ashamed your worship should know it. Then 
tell her on 't the next day, and she runs away and 
laughs at me. 

Doct. I know her disease. Commend me to thy 
mistress, and tell her, because I'll make a perfect 
cure on 't, I'll come and lie in the next room to her 
myself, and thou shalt go into the garret again. 

Prent. And it please your worship, my mistress 
perhaps may not like that so well, sir. 

Doct. She will like it, I know ; 'tis variety must 
recover her. Go tell her I'll not fail her. 

[Exit Prentice. 

Lea. Here comes Squire Softhead, that ran 
away with a trick to save his honour. 

Doct. I see your boy has cudgelled him to some 
purpose. 

Enter Softhead. 

Soft. Save you, Doctor ! a word in private. Can 
you keep a secret 1 

Doct. 'Tis the first point of my profession, secrecy. 



THE DUMB LADY. 53 

Soft. Despatch that fellow out o' th' way quickly, 
then. 

Doct. He is my apothecary, and as much to be 
trusted as I am. But how came your face so % 

Soft. Honourably of my side ! You must know 
I have fought a duel with a damned coward, a 
rascal called Leander. 

Lea. Now must I be abused, and dare not take 
notice on 't ! — But, sir, is it possible Leander should 
be such a coward 1 

Soft. Do you know him, sir 1 

Lea. Very well, sir. 

Soft. Is he your friend, sir 1 If he be, I am sorry 
I said so of him, sir ; but if he be not your friend, 
he is a coward, and I'll justify it, and a rascal, and 
I'll maintain it. Yet, sir, if you have the least 
relation to him, I shall be very ready to eat my 
words rather than disoblige you. 

Lea. Sir, he is neither relation nor friend of 
mine, neither care I a farthing for him, sir. 

Soft. Then he's the son of a whore, and I'll tell 
you how he served me. Just when we were 
stripped, and ready to go to it, the base rascal 
hired my boy, it seems, to run away with my 
sword. 

Doct. That was base indeed. 

Lea. I cannot believe so unworthy a thing of 
him. 

Soft. Eather than offend any man, I'll say I 
hired my boy myself to run away with my sword. 
I can be no civiller, sir. 

Lea. Bather than so, I will believe Leander did 
it, sir. 

Soft. Sir, I thank you heartily, and I will 
justify all that Mandevil or Coriat writ for your 
sake, so you believe it yourself, sir. 



54 THE DUMB LADY. 

Doct. But how was the duel, if the boy ran away 
with your sword % 

Soft. Why, I ran after him, got my sword, and 
came honourably to him again, and I drove him 
honourably round the field ; and all that while his 
boy got behind me dishonourably and cudgelled 
me damnably, that I am ashamed it should be 
known. 

Lea. Nay, sir, it shall ne'er be known for us ; but 
if the boy cudgelled you behind, how came you 
thus black and blue befdre ? 

Soft. Why, he beat my head and shoulders so 
devilishly that it came quite through to th' other 
side, that my face is all over Coventry blue. 
Therefore, good Doctor, report I am your patient 
and desperately wounded, and there's twenty 
pound; and I'll have a red scarf with a great 
fringe about my arm — methinks that looks 
valiantly ; and here is a sword has been up to the 
hilt in blood ; and if you hear Leander be killed, 
not a word who did it, on your lives ! 

Lea. Sir, to tell you true, we came just now 
from dressing of Leander's wounds ; and to be 
plain with you, if you did it, your life is in danger, 
for he cannot live above two dressings more. 

Doct. Therefore, if you would escape hanging, 
flee your country. 

Soft. Heart of a horse, I did neither wound him 
nor kill him ! 

Lea. No ! did you not confess just now you did 1 
Besides, your sword is all bloody up to the hilt, 
which will hang you if there were no other witness 
in the world. 

Soft Heart of a horse, I shall be hanged with a 
trick of my own ! 

Doct. I'll get money out of him. — Sir, we can 



THE DUMB LADY. 55 

do no less than send for a constable and apprehend 
you. 

Soft. dear Doctor, thou wilt not be such a 
rascal, I hope ! 

Bod. I'll be revenged of you for beating of me 
into a doctor, when I had a mind to conceal my 
parts ; therefore get me a constable. 

Soft. I am disgraced and dishonoured if you 
do ; and that's all you can do to take away the 
reputation of a poor Squire, for I did not kill 
Leander. 

Lea. Why, how came your sword so bloody % 

Soft. If you must needs know, 'twas with killing 
of a sheep, sir. 

Bod. A sheep ? Why, are you not ashamed, as 
you are a Squire, to own that ] 

Soft. There's no shame in it, sir, for 'twas a ram 
sheep, sir, and he assaulted me ; and in my own 
defence I killed him honourably and fairly. 

Bod. This excuse will not serve, for Leander is 
dying, and we must apprehend you. 

Soft. Since you are such a rascal, I'll give you a 
hundred pound to conceal all that I have said. 

Bod. Tell us the whole truth of your duel, and 
give me two hundred pound, as you did for the 
last man you killed in Plato's great year. 

Soft. A pox of your Plato, and your two hun- 
dred pound ! But, since there's no remedy, you 
shall have it, sir. 

Lea. And withal, tell us the truth of your duel, 
and we'll swear to be true to you. 

Soft. Why, then, by the heart of a horse, we 
fought not one stroke, but my boy ran away with 
my sword, as I contrived it, and I seemed to run 
after him to fetch it again, and so ran quite out 
o' th' field. And this is the truth, by the heart of 



56 THE DUMB LADY. 

a horse ! Then Leander's hoy ran after me, and 
cudgelled me, as you see, Coventry-wise. 

Doct. Well, sir, go into my chamher and send 
for your money, and I'll release you and keep your 
counsel faithfully. 

Soft. To give a physician two hundred pounds, 
and not so much as one clap cured for it ! dis- 
honour to true Squirehood for evermore ! 

[Exit Softhead. 

Enter Isabel. 

Doct. 'Slid, Pothecary ! here is my wife ! I'm 
resolved I will not own the quean ; for, first, she'll 
obstruct our design, next, I owe her a revenge. 
Hark you ! we must have some device to be rid of 
her. [ Whispers. 

Lea. I understand you very well. 

Isa. Save your worship ! 

Lea. Would you speak with anybody here, 
woman 1 

Isa. Pray tell his doctorship's worship that 
here's his wife. 

Lea. Alas, poor woman, his worship has ne'er a 
wife ! 

Isa. Who told you so 1 Were you by when his 
worship was unmarried again ? I must and will 
make bold to speak to him. Good Doctor Dog- 
bolt, how long have you been worshipful 1 

Doct. Feel her pulse, feel her pulse, Pothecary ! 

Isa. I'll take you over the face if you feel any- 
thing about me, you beastly fellow ! 

Lea. Prithee, begone, woman, for I assure thee 
Doctor Drench has ne'er a wife. 

Isa. But there is a horse-doctor Drench, a 
farrier, that has a wife. 

Doct. Ay, the farrier Drench may have a wife, 



THE DUMB LADY. 57 

but I assure thee Doctor Drench has none ; there- 
fore begone, woman ! 

Isa. Are you too proud to own your wife, you 
ungrateful rascal 1 Who made you a doctor but 
my invention and a good cudgel % I'll spoil your 
trade of physic, sirrah ! 

Doct. Now is your time, Pothecary, to be rid of 
her. 

Lea. 'Tis enough ! But, Doctor, do you hear 
the strange news that's abroad 1 

Isa. lack ! what news is it, I beseech you, 
good sir ? 

Lea. I do not speak to thee, woman. 

Doct. Well, what is it 1 

Lea. It seems there is an edict made, and it 
goes very hard with poor women, I confess. 

Isa. Now, good sir, as ever you came of a woman, 
tell me quickly what it is ! 

Lea. I will not tell my tale to the woman. 

Doct. Then tell me, I pray you. 

Lea. Why, sir, there is a new edict made, that 
no woman, upon pain of death, under such a degree 
or quality, shall presume to have a gallant, or any 
man but her own husband. 

Isa. And all this upon pain of death 1 'Slife ! 
who would not be a rebel at this rate % 

Lea. You say very true ; and upon this hard 
usage there are twenty thousand women in arms, 
and have made a formal remonstrance, wherein 
they declare for the privilege of the she-subject, 
and will live and die for the freeborn women of 
England. 

Isa. Ten thousand blessings upon them ! 
Where are they, I beseech you, sir 1 

Lea. They 're drawn up upon Hounslow Heath, 
and are now marching to besiege Windsor Castle. 



58 THE DUMB LADY. 

Isa. Though I sell all I have, and undo my chil- 
dren, I'll have a regiment, whatsoever it cost me ! 

[Exit Isabel. 
Doct. I saw the cage stand open by the stocks. 
Throw this purse into't, and say I sent it; and 
when she is in, lock the door and bid the boys 
hoot at her and call her bawd, and then I am 
revenged for her beating she procured me. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter Nurse. 

Nur. I find the Doctor has a mind to gallant 
me. He has such a winning way with him ; he 
swears 'tis a thousand pities such a rascal as my 
husband should e'er enjoy me, and such like fine 
terms, that 'tis hard, I swear, to withstand him. 
But yet one's honesty — Why, I confess, honesty's a 
fine thing to read of in a romance, but I do not 
find the practice of it so followed as to make it a 
fashion ; therefore, if Doctor's love hold, I shall — 
I shall — I cannot help it, husband, I shall. 

Enter Doctor. 

Doct. Nurse, how happy am I to meet with thee 
alone! Ah, rogue, methinks I could e'en run 
through thee now ! 

Nur. Ay, so ye all say ; but I am sure I could 
never see it yet. 

Doct. Now, good Nurse, grant me my suit. 

Nur. Truly, Doctor, so I would, if it were not 
for my honesty. 

Doct. Thou fool, there is no such thing as 
honesty ! The word honesty is a mere bugbear that 
jealous husbands invented to keep women in awe 
with, as raw-head and bloody-bones frights chil- 
dren ; that's all, i' faith. 



THE DUMB LADY. 59 

Nur. But is it possible that should be true, 
Doctor 1 

Doct. Nurse, it is so true that I'll show thee 
a reverend book, called St. Aratine's, where you 
shall be convinced there's no such thing as honesty. 

Nur. Say you so 1 Nay, then, dear Doctor, give 
me physic. Here comes my husband. What 
woman's that with him 1 

Enter Jarvis and Isabel. 

Doct. 'Tis a patient of mine that has twenty 
diseases besides a Neapolitan pox. 

Nur. What disease is that, Doctor % 

Doct. 'Tis a new-fashion'd disease came fresh 
with the last packet. 

Nur. Have we not old-fashion'd diseases enough 
of our own, but we must send for new ones over 1 

Jar. What a villain is this Doctor ! First, not to 
own his wife ; next, with a trick to trepan you into 
the cage ; then make the boys throw dirt at you 
and call you bawd. But why do you weep 1 

Isa. To think that ever I should live to be called 
bawd. If he had called me whore, 'twould ne'er 
have vexed me ; but to be called bawd is to be 
thought an old woman unworthy of copulation. 

Jar. Troth, malicious people may call you bawd, 
but, I protest, I think you far worthy to be called 
whore ; therefore, pray you, wipe your eyes. 

Isa. I thank you for your good opinion, how- 
soever. 

Jar. If it please you, madam, I'll make my 
opinion good. 

Nur. Here is a rogue ! to be jealous of his wife, 
and yet play the whoremaster himself! 

Isa. Look you, there's Doctor Devil for you ! that 
will not own his wife. 



60 THE DUMB LADY. 

Jar. And my wife with him ! Take no notice of 
them. I believe he has made me a cuckold of all 
colours — of the red, and the green, the yellow, and 
the blue bed. A pox on him ! Faith, be revenged, 
and make his caps too little for him. 

Isa. By my gallant, so I would, if it were not 
for my honour. 

Jar. Honour 1 I'll not come near your honour ; 
that's an airy thing that lies i' th' crown of your 
head. My request lies lower, quite another way. 

Isa. Look, look ! how familiar Doctor Dog is 
yonder. Oh for revenge ! 

Jar. A pox on him ! I'm not able to endure this. 
Go you in there. — Are you in your closet, sir 1 If 
you be, come out and see a fine sight quickly, sir. 
Oh, look ! look ! this cursed Doctor ! [Exit Isabel. 

Nur. We had need be careful of our credits, 
Doctor, for the world is grown so base, that if they 
should but see a man and a woman in bed together 
they would swear they were naught straight. 

Dod. Fear nothing, Nurse. [Kisses her. 

Jar. Look, look, look ! I am no cuckold to 
speak on. 

Enter Gernette. 

Ger. Is it so % What a false quean is this to use 
me thus ! 

Jar. Use you thus, sir % 'Tis use me thus, with 
your favour. 'Slid, why are you concerned 1 'Tis I 
am the cuckold, sir. 

Nur. 'Slid, Doctor, my master sees us kissing ; I 
am utterly undone. 

Dod. Feign yourself in a sound, and I'll seem to 
rub you to fetch you to life again. Alack ! help, 
help ! Who's within there 1 Help ! Oh, are you 



THE DUMB LADY. 61 

there, sir! Good sir, run for a glass of cold water; 
I have much ado to keep life in her. 

Ger. Ay, with all my heart ! and glad 'tis no 
worse, [Exit Gernette. 

Jar. Why the devil must he fetch water 1 Why 
could he not have sent me ? I find I shall be the 
staple cuckold for all the kingdom. 

Xur. What a rascal art thou to fetch my 
master ! 

Jar. Oh, you counterfeit quean ! you are not in a 
sound, then 1 ? 

Xur. No, you jealous rogue ! but I'll counterfeit 
again as soon as my master comes, and he shall 
believe it, too. 

Doct. Here he comes ; fall into your sound again, 
quick ! 

Enter Gernette. 

Ger. Here, here ! Alack, poor Nurse, she does 
use to have fits. 

Jar. Ay, a pox on her, more than e'er her 
mother had. Sir, give her no water ; she counter- 
feits ; she spoke as sensibly since you went as ever 
she did. Deny it, Doctor, if you can. 

Doct. What an uncharitable villain art thou to 
forge such a wicked lie ! This rogue is made sure. 

[Gives her water. 

Ger. Come, you wicked knave, and help to 
lead her to her bed ; you'll never leave your 
jealousy. [Servants and Jarvis lead her off. 

Jar. Oh, oh, oh ! she'll pull my ear off, sir ! 

Doct. That's a sign of a strong fit, sir ; but lay 
her upon her bed and she'll recover. 'Slid, sir, I 
never was so surprised in my life ! I was consult- 
ing with Nurse about your daughter's health, and 



62 THE DUMB LADY. 

all o' th' sudden she fell into my arms in a sound. 
But now for your daughter, sir. 

Ger. Despatch, and bring my daughter hither 
with all care. 

Bod. And, good sirs, bid my apothecary come in. 

Ger. What apothecary is it, sir 1 Cannot you 
cure her without an apothecary 1 

Boot. No, sir ; you speak as if you were jealous. 

Ger. Not jealous, sir, but I love to know who 
comes in my house. 

Bod. Neither apothecary nor doctor shall trouble 
you ; so fare you well, and cure your daughter 
yourself, sir. 

Ger. Nay, sweet Doctor, leave me not in this 
distress ! 

Bod. Be not jealous, then. 

Ger. Be not angry, then. Hey ho, Doctor, my 
heart misgives me that my child will be stolen. 

Enter Apothecary. 

Bod. Ill warrant you whilst I am in your 
house. — He smokes us, I doubt. 

Ger. I thank you, sir. Is this your apothecary 1 

Bod. Yes, sir. 

Ger. What the reason may be, I know not, but 
my heart rises at him though I never saw him be- 
fore. 

Bod. You make your life miserable with foolish 
phantasms. Pray, sir, bid him welcome. 

Ger. Why, you're welcome, sir ; but, to tell you 
truly, I like you not. 

Apot. If you please, I'll be gone, sir. — Do you 
think he has no hint of our design % 

Bod. No, no ! — Nay, sir, if he go, I'll go with 
him. 

Ger. Nay, I beseech you both, stay ! for I doubt 



THE DUMB LADY. 63 

my child is dying. Oh, here she comes ! Good 
sir, look upon her. 

Enter Olinda in a couch ; two Women. 

Doct. Apothecary, feel her pulse ! 

Ger. Is not that your office, sir 1 

Doct. Yet again 1 Why, he is the most learned 
man in Europe, and, to my shame, I find I cannot 
cure her without him. Go, go, feel her pulse ! 

Apot. I fear my over joy will discover me. 

Doct. Meantime, I'll tell you, sir, 'tis a great 
question amongst we learned of Padua whether 
men or women be hardest to cure. Some are of 
one opinion, some another; meantime there be 
potent arguments on either side. 

Ger. He is very long feeling her pulse, methinks. 

Doct. Pray you, mind you me, sir. First, we hold 
that women being naturally more cold than men, 
and cold being an enemy to life, it follows their 
cure must needs be more difficult and dangerous. 

Ger. How many pulses has he to feel that he is 
thus long about it 1 

Doct. You do not mark me, sir. I do not love 
to be slighted when I'm in argument. 

Ger. I do mark you, sir. 

Doct. Then, I say, 'tis generally held at Padua, 
that women, when they take physic, ought to have 
their potions much more stronger than men, be- 
cause physic cannot work so well upon cold and 
phlegmatic bodies as upon hot and dry. You do 
not hear me, sir. 

Ger. They're very close together, methinks ! 

Doct. A sign he minds his business ; and this 
was the opinion of the great Cham of Tartar's 
chief physician, that was fellow-student with me 
at Padua. 



64 THE DUMB LADY. 

Ger. A pox of your great Cham ! I must know 
why he dwells thus long upon her pulse. Have 
you conveyed no letters to her, sir 1 

Bod. What an uncivil question's that ! Come, 
Pothecary ! Let your daughter die, and you perish, 
the world shall never make me visit her again. 

Ger. Dear Doctor, do not leave me in this 
extremity. Mr. Pothecary, will you be my over- 
throw too % 

Apot. I'll do no man service that affronts me thus. 

Ger. Good gentlemen, bear with an old man's 
passion ! Good Mr. Apothecary, go to my child 
again ! 

Apot. No, not I, sir ; I shall but convey letters. 

Ger. Nay, then, you're cruel. I beseech your 
pardons, gentlemen. 

Doct. Well, sir, we see it is your weakness, and 
we pass it over ; go to your daughter whilst we 
consult a little. — We must press to have her to 
your house to cure her. 

Apot. Good ! And if he refuses that, I'll persuade 
her to counterfeit madness ; I have a design in 't. 

Bod. And that she may appear the more mad, 
let her tear all her clothes off, for a madwoman 
naked has such antic temptations. 

Apot. I should be loth any man should see her 
naked but myself, Doctor. 

Ger. Well, gentlemen, what have you concluded 
of? 

Bod. Sir, he must feel if he can discover of what 
side her heart lies. — I'll keep him in discourse the 
meanwhile. 

Ger. Must he feel her heart, Doctor ? Still it 
runs in my mind this apothecary will do me a mis- 
chief. Nay, be not angry ! 

Bod. Nay, I forgive you ; I see an old man's 






THE DUMB LADY. 65 

twice a child. Pray you walk into the next room : 
I must talk in private with you. 

Ger. I should sound if I should leave my child 
with the Apothecary. 

Doct. Let's talk here, then ; for look you, sir. 

[They walk, and seem to talk earnestly. 

Olin. I'll observe all your directions \ for if he 
will not let me go to your house, he shall find me 
mad enough, doubt not. 

Apot. You see how jealous he is, therefore we 
have no other hopes of enjoyment left but by this 
means. 

Olin. I'll do my part ; fear not. 

Ger. Sure he feels something more than her 
heart all this while. 

Doct. If there be occasion, we must stick at 
nothing. 

Apot. Why, sir, according to your opinion, I 
have found her heart on her right side. 

Ger. Most wonderful ! Pray you, what may be 
the reason, gentlemen 1 

Apot. Love is certainly the cause on 't ; and for 
her cure this is no place of convenience, therefore 
she must be removed to my house. 

Ger. To thy house, thou wicked fellow ! I told 
thee at my first sight of thee I did not like thee. 

Apot. But there is all things ready that cannot 
be removed hither, sir,— my tubs, my baths, and 
my sweating-house. 

Ger. I like it not. It is a plot to steal my child; 
I doubt so. Nay, be not angry, gentlemen, I do 
but doubt so. 

Doct. You would make a man forswear doing 
you any service. 

Ger. I crave your pardons once more. Is there 
no art left to make her speak 1 
E 



66 THE DUMB LADY. 

Doct. Yes, I could make her speak presently ; but 
I doubt it will be but wildly, sir, for love has 
shaken her brain exceedingly. 

Ger. Let me have the comfort to hear her speak 
of any fashion, good Mr. Doctor. 

Apot. You shall, sir. Pray you, madam, chew 
that in your mouth. Sir, you shall see the effects 
of it straight. Before you speak, put out your 
tongue, and wag it two or three times. 

[He embraces her. 

Olin. Let me alone ! I'll do anything to purchase 
thee, my dear Leander ! 

Ger. Why does he embrace her so 1 I do not 
like it, sir. 

Doct. Tis something in order to her cure. I 
think you're mad, sir ; you'll spoil all. He is but 
shaking her heart right. 

Ger. I'm sure he shakes mine every time he 
touches her. 

Olin. A — a — a — a. 

[She rises up and stares, and ivags her tongue. 

Ger. Oh, bless my child ! 

Doct. Be comforted, sir, for now it works. 

Olin. A — a — a — a. 

Ger. Is this your working % The devil work ! 
my child is undone ! 

Doct. Nay, now her tongue wags, she'll not be 
long ere she speaks ; fear not. 

Olin. Who are all you, sirs 1 

Ger. She speaks ! she speaks ! Make me thank- 
ful to you for it, worthy Mr. Doctor and Apothe- 
cary! 

Olin. What art thou ? whence earnest thou ] and 
whither wouldst thou 1 

Ger. Oh me, I fear my child's distracted ! 

Doct. I told you, sir, her sense was a little shaken. 






THE DUMB LADY. 67 

Olin. Pray you, is not that the devil in black, 
sir? 

Bod. No, I'm but a doctor yet, madam ; I shall 
not take my degree of devil these seven years. 

Apot. Yet, if you please, madam, he shall com- 
mence devil presently. 

Olin. Then, good Doctor Devil, — for you shall 
lose none of your titles here, sir, — help me to tear 
that beard off that old, wrinkled, weather-beaten, 
tanned old face. 

Ger. I am thy father, child ! 

Olin. I hope thou art not. I'd rather be a 
bastard than have thy ill-nature in me. 

Ger. I am thy old father, child. 

Olin. I hate anything that's old ! 

Ger. Wilt thou break thy old father's heart ? 

Olin. Nay, that's more precious to me than my 
father, which is my dear looking-glass. I would 
break that if it were old, for sure the devil in- 
vented old people on purpose to cross young lovers ; 
they could ne'er have been so cruel else to poor 
Leander ! 

Ger. My child is undone; she weeps for 
Leander. 

Olin. Yes, and will weep again and again for 
Leander. Leander, Leander, Leander ! Why, you 
do not love Leander ; for which sin, good Doctor 
Devil, take him into your territories, and let him 
fall desperately in love with a young she-devil, and 
let that she-devil have a cross father that will not 
let them come together, and then he'll feel the 
torment his poor child endures. 

Ger. Doctor, this has too much sense and satire 
in 't to be madness. 

Bod. Oh, sir, 'tis madness to a high degree, and 
dangerous madness too 1 



68 THE DUMB LADY. 

OUn. You look like Leander, sir, you are so 
young and handsome ! Sure you are Leander ! 

Ajpot Yes, madam, I am so. 

Ger. No, no, no, Pothecary ! Do not say so, I 
charge you. What does he mean by holding up 
his finger so impudently 1 [He beckons. 

Doct. He makes signs to let you know he must 
say as she says to please her, for in Padua we deal 
with mad folks like those that catch dottrils : when 
they stretch out a wing, we must stretch out an 
arm ; if they stretch out a leg, you must do so too ; 
else if we should cross her, she may fall into a 
raging fit and tear us all to pieces. 

Ger. most accursed madness ! 

OUn. Why would you absent yourself so long, 
Leander 1 Why lay you not your rosy cheek to 
mine, and throw your arms with sweet embraces 
about your lover 1 I doubt you're false, Leander ! 

Apot. Madam, may the earth open as I kneel, 
and make me an example of falsehood, if any un- 
constant thought be in me ! 

Ger. Why, villain Pothecary, talk no more so to 
her. Why the devil does he kneel 1 He speaks as 
feelingly as if he were concerned. 

Doct. Sir, there is no other way on earth to cure 
her but this. 

Ger. The remedy is worse than the disease. 
Come from her, Pothecary ! I told thee at first 
I did not like thee. I have a natural aversion 
against thee. Confess, for I know thou art to do 
me a mischief. Why were you so concerned to 
kneel and make such protestations % 

Apot. By my life, sir, I did it to please and to 
satisfy her, for she doubted I was false, and I 
swore I was not. Alas, sir ! we must take these 
courses to recover her by saying as she says, for 



THE DUMB LADY. 69 

physic has the least hand in curing madness. I 
have cured twenty mad people this way. 

Ger. Well, sir, you have a little satisfied me, and 
with reason too ; but yet there is something within 
me that hates thee heartily. 

Apot. Well, sir, when I have cured your daugh- 
ter, I hope you'll have a better opinion of me. 

Ger. I may of your art, but never of you, I 
doubt; for thy conscience knows thou art to cozen 
me. Nay, do not tell the Doctor so. 

[He offers to go to the Doctor. 

Doct. Troth, lady, you are so fine a madwoman, 
that 'tis a thousand pities you should e'er come to 
yourself again. Faith, for a frolic, take me by th' 
ears, and lead me round the room. 

Olin. If you will have it so, Doctor, but I shall 
make you repent it. — I have him, I have him ; 
and now I'll tear him all to pieces. 

Ger. Oh, save the Doctor, save the Doctor ! 

Apot. Sweet lady, spare the Doctor ! I'm your 
friend Leander, madam. 

Olin. I will do anything for Leander ; but you 
must stay and live with me, then. 

Apot. You see, sir, how very calm the very 
name Leander has made her. Troth, sir, I doubt 
you must be forced to send for Leander. 

Doct. I doubt we cannot cure her without him. 

Ger. She shall die mad first, and I'll die with 
her. This is a plot. Carry my child to her cham- 
ber ! Get out of my house, you villains ! 

Enter Servants and Nurse. 

Doct. You shall lay your hands under our feet 
before we come under your unworthy roof again. 
[Exeunt Doctor and Apothecary. 



70 THE DUMB LADY. 

Olin. Let me go with Leander ! Leander ! 
Leander ! [Exit Lady ; she tears them. 

Nur. You have made a fine hand to make my 
mistress thus mad. I'll weary you out of your life 
for this. 

Ger. You are very bold with your master, 
Nurse. 

Nur. There's an English proverb says, If you 
lie with your maid, she'll take a stool and sit 
down by her master. 

Ger. Well, well, I say again, she shall never 
marry but the Squire. 

Nur. She shall never marry your fool Softhead. 
She shall first merchandise her maidenhead. 



Act iv. — Scene i. 
Enter Olinda and Mrs. Nibby. 

Olin. No, dear cousin, I was not dumb, nor am 
I mad ; I have trusted you with my love, and in 
that my life. 

Nib. Dear cousin, doubt me not; when I am 
false to you, may I miscarry in my own amours. 
But pray you, coz, how came you by this lover 
Leander 1 for none o' th' house knows him. 

Olin. Truly, coz, I never saw him but at church. 

Nib. A very good place to make love in. 

Olin. Indeed, I have found it so. The first time I 
saw him was six pews from me ; the next time he 
sat within two, and there he warmed my heart ; 
the next after he sat i' th' same pew with me, and 
'twas so ordered betwixt him and the pew-keeper 




THE DUMB LADY. 71 

that none sat with us, and there we loved, and 
there we plighted troth. 

J\ib. I find a pew-keeper is a worthy friend to 
love, and for sixpence you may sit with whom you 
please, and court whom you please, i' th' church. 
It was handsomely contrived of your lover, though, 
to come with the Doctor as his apothecary; but 
what made him persuade you to counterfeit mad- 
ness 1 ? 

Olin. He has a design in 't, but had not time to 
tell me. My father has turned the Doctor off, you 
see ; therefore, coz, you must go to him. 

Nib. He'll find some stratagem to see you again, 
fear not. If not, I'll go to him. But come, coz, 
now let's laugh at the duel that the Squire's foot- 
boy told us of his master. 

Olin. Ay, he found it safer killing of a sheep 
than Leander. 

Nib. No doubt on 't. Your father's bringing of 
him in to woo you again ; fall to your madness, 
and let me alone to dispose of the Squire. I'll 
have him drawn up with an engine, and there he 
shall hang i' th' air in a cradle till you're married 
or run away. Here they come ; let us withdraw a 
little. [Exeunt Olinda and Nibby. 

Enter Gernette and Softhead. 

Ger. But how came your face thus black and 
blue, and thus black patched 1 I never saw a 
lady's face thus furnished. 

Soft. They may be thus furnished when they 
please, but they shall never come so honourably 
by their black patches as I have done. 

Ger. Pray you, how came you by them 1 

Soft. Do you take these for patches 1 dull 
old age ! These are badges, badges of honour. 



72 THE DUMB LADY. 

Look you, my sword is glazed with honour too. 
But you shall ne'er know how ; it has cost me two 
hundred pounds already confessing. 

Ger. I know it already, sir ; but, Squire, I fear 
you did not court my daughter handsomely. What 
said you when you wooed her ? 

Soft. I wooed her with all the fashionable ques- 
tions of the town. I asked her if she could come 
a seven, and she laughed at me ; then I asked her 
if she would come the caster, and I'd cover her. 
No man could say fairer to his mistress, I think. 
Then I asked her if she could drink Burgundy and 
seal bonds, pay the price of a chine of beef for a 
dish of French trotters ; and that's all I said to 
her. 

Ger. I would thou hadst more wit, or I thy 
precious acres. Who's there % 

Ser. Sir? 

Ger. Bid them bring in my daughter if she be 
awake. I hope she may take you for Leander, for 
she is now out of her dumbness, and is fallen stark 
mad. 

Soft. How, can she speak 1 and is she mad 1 
Heart of a horse, I'll be mad with her for a hun- 
dred pound ! Oh, I do so love to be mad ! And 
will she be drunk too % 

Ger. Drunk, you brute you 1 no ! 

Soft. Why, how can she be mad, then 1 I cannot 
be mad till I'm drunk for my life; but I'll try 
what I can do. 

Ger. But be sure you humour her, and say 
everything as she says. 

Soft. Let me alone ; here she comes ! 'Slid, how 
delicately she stares ! 



THE DUMB LADY. 73 



Enter Olinda, Nibby, Nurse, and Servants. 

Olin. What's that with the piebald face ] How 
earnest thou so distracted, thou errant knight % 

Soft. For thy sweet sake, thou devilish damsel. 

Olin. Thou art as mad as I am. 

Soft. I am stark mad, for my mother was born 
in March ; therefore let us be married. 

Olin. I would not be so mad for all the world. 

Soft. And when we are married we'll outdo the 
Great Mogul for new fashions. Instead of six 
Flanders mares, our coach shall be drawn with six 
centaurs. 

Olin. Centaurs ! In the name of madness, what 
are them 1 

Soft. A centaur is a horse born with a postilion 
on 's back. 

Olin, And shall all the footmen ride behind the 
coach ! 

Soft. Yes, o' th' backs of one another, like March 
frogs in a ditch ; and there they shall spawn young 
footboys. 

Olin, And at the boot of your coach must be 
running an orange wench, presenting your lady a 
sweet lemon with a love letter in 't. 

Soft. Eight ! And instead of points and gilded 
nails, our coach shall be trimmed round with cart- 
ridges. 

Olin. And they shall be filled with powder and 
shot to defend us. 

Soft, No ; each cartridge shall have a little tiny 
page in it, with his head peeping out like hictkts 
doctius. 

Nib. By 'r lady, I think they are both mad ! 

Soft. What wonders would I do for my true 
love ! 



74 THE DUMB LADY. 

Nur. There's a verse of a song to that purpose ; 
I'll sing it : 

' What wouldst thou do for thy true love, 
If she for help should call 1 ' 

Soft. Why, I would fight with a great giant, 
though he were ne'er so tall. 

Olin. Thou fight with a giant 1 He must be in 
sheepskin, then. 

Soft. Heart of a horse, how came she by that ? 

Enter Conjuror. 

Olin. Go, bid my conjuror come. 

Con. Here, madam ! 

Olin. Let me see Elysium quickly, and tell me 
truly what they do there. 

Con. Madam, it is so little, and so like what's 
done in this world, that it is not worth your know- 
ing ; but since you command, I must obey. Let 
idle poets speak their fancies of Elysium, but I 
that have been there must speak the truth; in 
short, madam, all the women do nothing but sing, 
' John, come kiss me now,' and then the men give 
'em a green gown upon the flowery banks, and 
there they commit love together. 

Olin. Do they not dance in Elysium 1 

Con. Yes, madam, as you shall see. Every one 
keep their stand. Squire, stand you here. 

Soft. Must I see the devil 1 

Con. Yes. 

Soft. Would I were devilish drunk, then. 

Con. Why would you be drunk, Squire 1 

Soft. Because they say when I'm drunk the 
devil would not keep me company. 

Con. You must know my devil scorns to be com- 
manded with canting mountebank words ; he is a 



THE DUMB LADY. 75 

seafaring kind of devil, that comes when his bosun 

whistles. Stand fast ! 

[He whistles, Elysium opens; many women's voices sing, 

1 John, come kiss me now;' after that a dance; 

they draw up Squire Softhead with a devil, 

and he cries out. 
Soft. Save the Squire ! save the Squire ! 

Enter Jarvis and Isabel — Nurse unseen. 

Jar. Tell my master all the lies you can invent 
of him, for I know women are good at sudden in- 
vention. 

Isa. Yes, I could lie sufficiently to do his work ; 
that is, I can lie my part, if you can swear yours. 

Jar. If you do not second your lying with 
swearing, we shall do no good on 't. 

Isa. Nay, by my troth, if I lie, I expect you 
should swear to it ; 'tis your revenge as well as 
mine, and you shall bear your part. 

Jar. Troth, I am not very good at swearing. 

Isa. Then do you lie, and I'll swear ; take your 
choice, for 'tis all one to me. 

Jar.. Nay, we must second one another both with 
swearing and lying as occasion serves. 

Nur. That I had but some witness of this villany ! 

Isa. I'll warrant you, we'll spoil his being a 
doctor, i' faith ! 

Nur. You shall not, if I can help it. 

Isa. I'll tell your master, first, he is a drunken 
farrier, and no doctor; a villain not to own his 
wife. 

Nur. How ! is this his wife 1 I dare say 'tis for 
my sweet sake he does not own her. Poor dear 
Doctor ! 

Isa. I'll be revenged to the full. 

Nur. So will I, till I am full. 



76 THE DUMB LADY. 

Jar. I'll give you my wife's new gown, and take 
your revenge my way. 

Nur. rogue ! a cuckold to the ninth degree ! 

Isa. Sure a new gown and a new gallant are two 
sweet things, but revenge is sweeter and dearer to 
me than my children ; therefore let us first go to 
your master. 

Jar. But first let us consider, and lay our story 
ready. [Exeunt Jar vis and Isabel. 

Nur. I'll to the Doctor, and tell him all this. 
What a slave is this husband of mine ! rogue, 
that cannot be content to be a cuckold, but he 
must be a whoremaster too. Thou shalt have more 
than an ordinary head, for that at Arnboes shall 
appear but a pricket to thee ; for thou shalt be a 
monstrous cuckold, if man or beast can make thee 
one. [Exit Nurse. 

Enter Doctor and Apothecary. 

Apot. I doubt, Doctor, we shall never win the 
old man's favour again. 

Boc t. Troth, I think you were never in 't, for his 
blood rose at the very first sight of you. 

Apot. He finds by instinct the mischief I'm to 
do him. 

Bod. Well, 'tis now come in my head to gain his 
opinion again. 

Apot. my dear Doctor, how ? 

Bod. Why, thus ; — you shall write a love letter 
to your mistress, as you are Leander, and then 
deliver it to th' old man, as you 're my apothecary ; 
I'll go with you too. 

Apot. What advantage will that be 1 

Bod. We'll tell him that Leander, hearing that 
we gave his mistress physic, offered us a lusty sum 
to convey a letter to her ; and finding how heartily 



THE DUMB LADY. 77 

he resolves against Leander, we thought fit to 
show ourselves honest by delivering him the letter. 

Apot. In troth, this may clear the jealousy he 
had of us, and bring us in again. 

Bod. If this will not, we must find some other 
trick. What if I continued love to Nurse % She 
would be very instrumental, if we had so little wit 
as to trust her. 

Apot. It would argue very little wit indeed ; but 
come, let us about the letter. 'Slid, here comes 
Nurse ! 1/ 

Enter Nurse. 

Nur. Oh, Mr. Doctor ! I must tell you you're a 
man of little conscience to make such true love to 
me as you have done, and have a wife as you have ! 

Bod. Truly, Nurse, I had thought you had had 
more honesty than to suffer me to make such love 
to you, and have a husband as you have. 

Nur. But, Doctor, I came to tell you that the 
woman my cuckold makes love to swears she is 
your wife, and says you 're no doctor, but a farrier, 
and a drunkard, and a beggar, and they're just 
now going to my master to tell him so ; nay, 
they 're resolved to lie and swear all things they 
can invent against you. 

Bod. There is no great invention in so much 
truth. A pox on 'em ! what shall we do 1 All our 
designs are quite spoiled. 

Apot. I am undone to all eternity. 

Bod. Nay, nay, 'tis I am undone, for I must 
turn farrier again. — Nurse, I'll come to you pre- 
sently. 

Apot. I'm utterly destroyed if I get not off o' 
this. 

Bod. I have it already ! Eun you to Bedlam, 



78 THE DUMB LADY. 

and give two of the whippers a piece, and bring 
them hither, and tell them they own my wife for a 
madwoman, and carry her to Bedlam, and force 
her with all violence, and keep her there till fur- 
ther orders. 

Apot. I'll instruct them further as they come 
along. [Exit Apothecary. 

Doct. Do so ; make haste and fly like gunshot. 
Now, Nurse, this was kindly done indeed to tell 
me this, Nurse ; but be not troubled, for she is not 
my wife, but a madwoman broke out of Bedlam; 
and now I am resolved to marry thee, Nurse, for I 
see thou lovest me truly. 

Nur. Ay, but, Doctor, you know I've a husband. 

Doct. Hang him ! I were a pitiful doctor to 
suffer anybody to live that I have occasion to have 
dead. 

Nur. If it could be done with a safe conscience. 

Doct. Why, if it be safely done, it's done with a 
safe conscience. I see thou 'rt a fool, and knows 
nothing. 

Nur. You learned men know best ; I leave all 
to you. 

Doct. Thou shalt lead the sweetest life, Nurse. 
First, I will get my son and heir myself, Nurse ; and 
then thou shalt have a brave gallant, with a fine 
white periwig that cost twenty pound, Nurse. 

Nur. dear Doctor, how sweetly you express 
your love to me ! 

Doct. And then your gallant shall carry you 
abroad, and bring you home o' nights, so well 
pleased, Nurse ! 

Nur. my most obliging Doctor ! 

Doct. And then thou shalt throw that gallant 
off, Nurse, and have one with a brave brown peri- 
wig, Nurse. 



THE DUMB LADY. / 9 

Nur. Did ever man show such true love to a 
woman ? Let all husbands take example by this 
dear Doctor ! 

Dod. And then thou shalt hare one with a 
brave black periwig, Xurse, so that thou shalt 
hare children of all colours i'th' rainbow. But 
why dost thou weep, Xurse 1 

Nur. I weep for joy to think what a comfortable 
life I shall lead with you. 

Dod. And dare you be true to your young mis- 
tress and Leander, and help to bring them to- 
gether, Xurse] 

JVtir. I deserve to starve for a true lover else. 

Dod. But then you must be true to your master, 
and tell him when they're together; and then you 
oblige both parties, you know. 

Nur. By my troth, and so I shall ; and I'll be 
sure to follow your directions. 

Dod. I dare swear thou wouldst. But, Xurse, I 
do but jest : I would not wrong the old gentleman 
for the whole earth. 

Nur. Xor I for all the world. 

Dod But. Xurse, go tell your master that the 
woman is a madwoman of Bedlam ; you may 
swear you have seen her there, for 'tis very true, 
Xurse. 

Xur. I will do it truly. Doctor : but when shall 
our happy day oi marriage be. Doctor ? 

Dod. As soon as you can persuade your husband 
to take physic. 

Xur. Let me alone for that. dear Doctor, 
this fine white periwig does so run in my head. 

Dod. And does not the brown one do so too ? 

Xur. Yes, by my troth, and the black one eke 
also. [Exit NUBSE, 

Dod. I dare not trust this iade for all this : vet 



80 THE DUMB LADY. 

for little things, which may be helps to the main, 
I shall venture to try her in. 

Enter Apothecary and two Officers of Bedlam. 

Apot. Mr. Doctor, I have brought you a couple 
of officers for your turn ; they both understand, 
and are ready to serve you for your money. 

Bod. But have you given them instructions 1 

1 Offi. Oh, sir, we have it thoroughly. 

Doct. You must be confident, for you'll find a 
damned scold of her. 

2 Offi. Oh, sir, we that can tame mad folks can 
tame a scold, I warrant you. 

1 Offi. And though the woman be not mad, we 
can make her mad if you please. 

Doct. Prithee, how I 

2 Offi. With these engines. Why, people are 
not so mad when they come to Bedlam as they are 
when they're in 't, I assure you. 

Doct. How comes that, I prithee 1 

1 Offi. Do you think that the food of bread and 
water, to lie naked in foul straw, and to be whipped 
twice a day, will not make anybody mad 1 ? I'll 
warrant you, faith. 

Doct. But do you give them no physic 1 

1 Offi. Something they have, but a whip is the 
main ingredient ; for we whip 'em out of a frenzy 
into stark madness, and then whip 'em on till they 
come round to their wits again. 

Doct. That plainly shows the circulation of the 
blood ; and this may be cited a consultation. 

Apot. Well, sir, you see they know their work ; 
therefore about it, and there is more money to 
encourage you. 

1 Offi. You shall hear of her in Bedlam, I'll war- 
rant you. [Exeunt Bedlam Men. 



,. 



THE DUMB LADY. 81 

Ajpot. Now, let 's about our letter with all 
speed. 

Docl Come on ! and if all fail, we'll fetch your 
mistress to Bedlam, for she is pretty well entered 
into madness already. 

Apot No ; then people will say, if she had not 
been mad she'd ne'er been in love with me. Yet 
anywhere out of her father's house does it. 

Doct. Well, if our other designs fail, faith, have 
at that ! [Exeunt 

Enter Gernette, Nibby, and Nurse. 

Nib. Thou wretched old man, first to make thy 
daughter mad, and then to keep her in 't with thy 
cruelty, when your own conscience knows a hus- 
band would recover her ! 

Get. But now my mind is altered ; for I'm re- 
solved, let her perish, she shall never marry whilst 
I live. 

Nib. At your peril be it, for I'll take my oath 
before a judge that a husband would bring her to 
her wits again. 

Ger. I renounce and disclaim her. 

Nib. A husband, I tell you ! Second me, Nurse. 

Ger. I'm resolved I'll hear of no husband. 

Nur. I tell you once again, a husband. 

Nib. And I tell you moreover and above, a hus- 
band. 

Nur. And I tell you both under and over, and 
over and under, a husband. 

Both. A husband, a husband, a husband ! 

Ger. I'll stop my ears. I'll hear no more of her. 

Nib. But in troth, uncle, consider soberly her 
sad condition. She is young, and her blood gallops 
in her veins, and requires the satisfaction of a 
F 



82 THE DUMB LADY. 

gentleman. I prescribe her nothing but what I 
would take myself. 

Nur. Alack, she might take it if she were a 
dying. 

Ger. Cannot the comforts of a father recover 
her? 

Nur. Nor of a mother neither, if her heart be set 
the other way. 

Ger. Then let her die mad, for I'll hear of no 
such thing as husband. 

Nib. With all my heart I wish she would marry 
thy gardener. 

Nur. Ay, that she might taste of his apricocks. 
~N&y, nay, nay, you shall hear us out ! for look you, 
master, a husband is such a thing. 

Nib. Ay, truly, uncle, a husband is such a thing. 

Ger. What a thing is a husband 1 

Nib. Why, a thing a young woman cannot be 
without. 

Nur. No, nor an old woman neither. 

Nib. A husband is a thing that's good for many 
things. 

Nur. A husband is good to father his wife's 
children. 

Nib. Pray you, let him be good at getting them 
first. 

Nur. No matter, that's a thing may be done 
without him ; I see you are a young woman, and 
know nothing. 

Nib. Then a husband is a thing that is a good 
cloak for a woman's knavery 1 

Nur. Ay, if a husband could be brought to 
do the civil office of an orange woman, to fetch 
and carry, he were worth his weight in gold. I 
have a husband, my master knows, is the un- 
towardest peevish fellow at it. 



THE DUMB LADY. 83 

Ger. Away, away, you idle woman ! 

Nib. You mean downright pimping, Nurse ; 
that's a little against the hair, methinks, for a 
husband Ben Jonson says, Fathers and mothers 
make the best bawds. 

Nw. Bawds ! Your Jonson's an ill-bred, foul- 
mouthed fellow to call them so. Besides he is a 
fool, for a husband's worth a hundred fathers and 
mothers for that office, for then the wife's un- 
stained : the world cannot taint her when the hus- 
band gives her countenance. 

Nib. But will you consider your daughter's 
madness 1 

Nur. Ay, he has turned off a worthy doctor and 
his apothecary that would have cured her, and 
now he's jealous of 'em, and will not let 'em come 
near her. 

yih. 'Slife, I'll indite you for murder ! I'll not 
see my cousin cast away thus ! Send for this 
r ; I say! 

Enter Jaryis and Isabel. 

Jar. Here is a woman, if it please you, has 
something to say to you concerning the Doctor. 

Ger. Ay, what is it, woman ? 

Isa. I would be loth to have your worship 
abused. This doctor, if it please you, that comes 
to your house is a very rascal. Swear to it, now. 

Jar. Ay, by my feckars-law is he. 

Isa. Swear up roundly, and be hanged ! Is 
feckars-law an oath to pass before a judge ? I say 
this doctor is a rascaL 

Gtr. AYhy, he may be ne'er the worse doctor for 
that. 

Isa. But he is not a doctor, if it please you. 



84 THE DUMB LADY. 

Ger. Why, he may be ne'er the worse rascal for 
that. 

Isa. But, as I said, he is no doctor, but a down- 
right farrier. 

Ger. A farrier ! by 'r lady, a good foundation to 
raise a doctor upon. I like him ne'er the worse. 

Isa. Besides, he is a beggar, and I am his wife, 
sir. 

Ger. If thou be'st his wife, 'tis an even lay but 
lie's a beggar. 

Isa. Besides, we have had five children, and now 
he will not own me, sir. 

Ger. That confirms him a good doctor still, I 
say. 

Nur. This woman is mad, sir. 

Ger. She talks sensibly enough, and I believe 
her. 

Isa. I am not mad, sir, and I tell you he is but 
a farrier. Swear, and be hanged; you leave me 
sweetly i' th' lurch ! I say he can give your 
daughter a drench, and shoe her before and be- 
hind, and that's all he knows of a doctor. 

Enter Bedlam Men. 

2 Offi. By your leave, we must make bold with 
your worship ; we have a madwoman broke out 
of Bedlam, and we understand she is come into 
your worship's house. Oh, are you there, you mad 
quean ] must we have all this labour to find you, 
with a pox? I'll scourge you to some purpose, 
i' faith ! [He mistakes. 

Ger. What dost thou mean, fellow % this is my 
servant. 

Nur. You rogue ! you villain ! you rascal ! 

1 Offi. Sir, pray you pardon him ; this fellow is a 
stranger, and come newly to his office since she 



THE DUMB LADY. 85 

stole out of Bedlam. This is the quean, sir ; she 
knows me well enough. Look, look, look, if it 
please your worship, how the mad whore stares at 
me now she sees me ! 

Isa. I mad ! I in Bedlam, you rogue I 'Tis 
that thing, that gentlewoman thing, that looks like 
a madwoman. 

Nib. 'Slight, I'll away and secure my cousin. 

[Exit Nibby. 

Ger. I hope they do not come for my daughter, 
Nurse. 

1 Offi. Nay, nay, nay ; come you quean ! away 
with her ! Why, sir, we have had this wretch in 
Bedlam this dozen years ; and sometimes she is so 
well that we let her go about the house ; and then 
she steals out, and 'tis sometimes a week before we 
can find her again. Fare you well, sir. 'Slid, how 
I'll lash the whore ! 

[Exeunt Bedlam Men with Isabel. 

Ger. This woman being mad confirms me the 
Doctor is wronged. 

Jar. The woman is his wife, and not mad, sir ; 
and the fellow is no doctor, but a farrier, sir. 

Nur. The rogue is jealous of the Doctor, and 
that makes him say so, as he is of your worship 
when I rise a-nights to rub your shins. 

Jar. I say again, he is a farrier and no doctor ! 

Ger. This must be scandal, for I believe he is a 
learned man. How now 1 ? What do you here, 
sir 1 Did not I forbid you my house 1 Are you a 
farrier, sir % 

Enter Doctor and Apothecary. 

Bod. Are you a changeling, sir % 
Ger. Why changeling, fellow 1 
Doct. Why farrier, fool % 



86 THE DUMB LADY. 

Ger. He is wronged, sure, by his angry con- 
fidence. 

Bod. Who told you I was a farrier, sir % 

Ger. A woman that said she was your wife ; 
and, truly, I believed it, till two officers of Bedlam 
fetched her away, and said she was a madwoman. 

Bod. Alack, alack ! was it she % Why, that 
poor creature has been in Bedlam this many years ; 
and she has called me husband so long, that of 
my conscience the poor wretch believes it to be so 
indeed. 

Nv/r. Ay, but, Mr. Doctor, my husband swears 
you're a farrier. 

Bod. Who 1 that villain ? Why, thou scan- 
dalous rogue, how dar'st thou wrong me, when 
thou hast discovered such strange things to me of 
thy master 1 

Ger. Ay, what has the rogue discovered, sir 1 

Bod. First, he is damnable jealous of you ; next, 
he told me that you got his wife's child ; and he 
desired us of all loves to give you some cantharides, 
to disable you for getting of children. Ask my 
apothecary else. 

Apot. Tis very true, I assure you. 

Jar. Sir, they wrong me, and they lie. 

Nwr, But they do not swear and lie, as thou and 
the madwoman did. Sir, I'll swear upon a book 
I overheard them make the bargain ; she was to 
lie, and he was to swear to it. 

Bod. Tothecary, you overheard that too, did 
you not ? 

Apot. I did so, sir, and I'll be deposed upon 't. 
— You put me to hard duty, Doctor. 

Ger. You villain, out of my house ! 

Jar. Sir, they do me wrong ; I never said so. 

Ger. I know you were always a jealous rascal, 



THE DUMB LADY. 87 

and therefore must believe 'em. So get you out, 
you villain ! 

Bod. Sirrah, will you be content to be a 
cuckold yet % 

Jar. I'll be revenged, for I'll cut thy throat. 

Bod. I'll be even with thee, for I'll give thee 
physic ! 

Ger. Pay him his wages, and let him be gone. 

Jar. Give me my wife, then. 

Bod. No ! I mean to physic her, and make her 
fit for a gentleman. 

Jar. I'll have my wife, if there be law. 

Bod. Thou shalt have her before thy suit is 
ended, for by that time everybody will have done 
with her. 

Nur. Come, sir, I'll pay you your wages ; you 
see what comes of jealousy. Could not you be 
content to hear and see, and say nothing 1 

[Exeunt Jarvis and Nurse. 

Apot. But, sir, our business is to present you 
with this letter, and withal to advise you to look 
strictly to your daughter, for this Leander is con- 
triving several stratagems to steal her. He offered 
us I know not what to deliver her this letter. 

Bod. But we, knowing it would break your 
heart, we thought ourselves bound in conscience to 
bring you the letter, and withal to advise you to 
be careful of your child, for to my knowledge 
she'll be gone else. So, having fairly discharged 
ourselves, we take our leaves. [Offers to go. 

Ger. Oh, do not go, you are my friends ! you 
have proved yourselves my faithful friends ! I 
beseech you stay and take care once more of my 
child ! 

Apot. Not for the world, sir ! We came not 
to that end, sir. We came to show ourselves 



88 THE DUMB LADY. 

honest men; and that being now cleared, our 
credits shall come no more in question. 

Ger. I beseech you, leave me not ! 

Bod. Why, your passion will spoil all our 
practice; for should it be noised abroad that a 
doctor of physic carries letters betwixt party and 
party, 'twere enough to undo us all. 

Ger. Good gentlemen, I have received comfort 
by your fidelity; take it not from me again by your 
obstinacy. I once more beseech you to take the 
care of my child upon you. 

Apot. Alack, sir, do not weep ! We'll do any- 
thing to serve you ; but our credits are so precious 
to us. 

Ger. Good men, I'll never distrust you more ; 
you have showed such worth in the discovery of 
this letter, that I weep for joy to think I have 
found such faithful friends. 

Bod. In troth, my tender nature melts too. 
See, see, my poor Apothecary weeps too. 

Ger. Dost thou cry too, Nurse 1 ? Alack, poor 
woman ! 

Nur. How can I choose but cry, to see my 
master weep 1 

Bod. I thought you had cried to part with your 
husband, Nurse. 

Nur. Your own conscience knows I do not love 
him so well. Pray you, good master, wipe your 
eyes. 

Ger.. Good Doctor and Apothecary, weep no 
more ! 

Bod. We cannot hold to see your grief so great, 
sir. 

Omnes. Ah — ah — ah — ah. [All cry together. 

Bod. Let us cry in four parts, and see how 
'twill go. 



THE DUMB LADY. 89 

Apot. I have heard of singing in four parts, but 
never of crying in four parts before. Come, sir, 
take comfort, for once more we will undertake 
your child. 

Doct. We must first repair home, to provide 
things fit for her, and then without delay we come. 
— Once more we have fastened of him. 

[Exeunt Doctor and Apothecary. 

Ger. Good gentlemen, make haste ! Come 
hither, Nurse; this was kindly done to weep, 
Nurse. 

Nur. I could not choose but weep to see you 
weep. _ 

Ger. In the middle of my sorrows, there is some 
comfort in thee yet. Come, kiss me, Nurse. I 
hope thou hast been true to me, Nurse, and not 
suffered that rascal thy husband to come near 
thee. 

Nur. Do you think I'd be so false a wretch as 
to let my husband touch me 1 I wish the heavy 
judgment of such a sin may fall on me if ever he 
so much as kissed me, or ever shall whilst your 
worship lives ; for sure you have been a sweet 
man in your youth, that is such a comfort to a 
woman in your old age. 

Ger. But am I such a comfort to thee indeed, 
Nurse 1 Do not dissemble with me. 

Nur. If I do, I wish I may never enter into the 
why am I a woman % But why do you sus- 
pect me so % 

Ger. Because I thought the Doctor had kissed 
you when you were in 's arms. 

Nur. That you should think such a wicked 
thing of me, when you saw I'd a fit of the mother. 

Ger. Weep not, Nurse ! I am satisfied. Come, 
kiss and be friends. [He kisses Nurse. 



90 THE DUMB LADY. 

Enter Nibby. 

Nib. Look, look of that old sinckanter !* Here's 
a fine mouldy gallant, an old grey badger ! I must 
play the rogue with him, though I suffer for it. 

Nur. 'Slid ! your niece sees you kiss me. 

Ger. Alack, I am ashamed for ever, then ! 
Good Nurse, sound as you did when the Doctor 
rubbed you. 

Nur. Do you think I can counterfeit sounding 1 
Besides, do you think you are able to rub me as 
the Doctor did 1 

Nib. Oh, woe is me, and woe unto us all ! 
this uncle ! this wicked uncle ! 

Ger. Alack ! what's the matter 1 

Nib. cruel destiny ! fatal fortune ! 

Ger. Why, Niece Nibby, what's the matter ] 

Nib. That ever I should live to see this day ! 

Nur. Oh, my dear Mrs. Nibby, what's the 
misfortune 1 

Nib. Oh, where should I find this cursed uncle 
of mine 1 

Ger. Here I am, Nibby ! what's the danger 1 

Nib. You are undone and ruined ! 

Ger. How ! undone and ruined 1 Do not delay 
me ! 

Nib. Oh, your daughter, your daughter, you 
wicked wretch 1 I am not able to say more for 
grief. 

All. Ah — ah — ah — ah. [All weep. 

Ger, Tell me quickly what's the matter ! 

Nib. Why, your daughter's grown desperate 
mad at your unkindness, ran to the window that 
stands over the river, and there opening the great 
casement — — - 

* Worn-out person: 



THE DUMB LADY. 91 

Ger. Oh, what did she then 1 

Nib. Why, lifting np her hands and eyes to 
that good place where you will never come, 
uncle, she loudly cried, Since my father has aban- 
doned me, 'tis time for me to quit this life of 
mine. 

Ger. And so threw herself into the river 1 

Nib. No ; it seems she did not like that kind of 
death. 

Ger. Why, what then 1 

Nib. Why, then she ran like lightning to the 
table, where your pocket pistol lay. 

Ger. And so shot herself with that % 

Nib. No ; it seems there was no powder i' th' 
pan. But, bitterly sighing and weeping, at last she 
ran and desperately threw herself upon her bed, 
and then growing paler and paler by degrees fell 
into a deadly sound. 

Ger. And so died ? 

Nib. Stay, stay, you're too quick for your 
daughter ; but with much rubbing, tumbling, and 
tossing her, I brought her to life again. So, 
leaving her at death's door, I came to tell you the 
news. 

Ger. Where are my servants? Eun, bid 'em 
run ! I'll have a consultation of doctors. And run 
for Doctor Drench, for he shall join in council 
with 'em. [Exeunt. Manet Nurse. 

Nut. I'll to the Doctor and tell him this. I 
doubt he will not like a consultation with phy- 
sicians. 

If he stand this brush, he's made for ever ; 
Luck, if 't be thy will, just now or never. 



92 THE DUMB LADY. 

Act v. — Scene i. 
Enter Doctor, Leander, and Parson Othentick. 

Lea. Look you, Doctor, this gentleman is my 
brother, and, though he be young, a minister in 
orders. I have told him what we designed, and 
he is to go as my apprentice, and carry our feigned 
physic. 

Doct. Very good ! And can you step out of a 
pulpit into an apothecary's shop, poison a friend or 
two, and steal to your text again, without scruple 
of conscience % 

Othen. Sir, I shall go as near the wind as a 
Dutch skipper to serve my brother; but I hope 
there is no poison in the case. 

Lea. No ; but there is a little cheat. 

Doct. Which I hope you may dispense with. 

Othen. Truly, I hope I may to serve my brother. 

Doct. Or your sister. 

Othen. Yes, sure, to serve any of my relations. 

Doct. Or a friend. 

Othen. So it be a dear friend. 

Doct. Or a stranger with a good living to pre- 
sent. 

Othen. That's a good thing still. 

Lea. The Doctor's merry, brother; but pray 
you let me help you off with your reverend weeds, 
and appear like an apothecary's apprentice, or a 
disciple of Paracelsus. [Helps him off. 

Othen. Now, Doctor, give me leave to be merry 
with you. I studied physic, and should have pro- 
fessed it, and an old doctor gave me some rules 
for a young doctor to observe. 

Doct. Pray you, let's hear them by all means. 






THE DUMB LADY. 93 

Othen. First, have always a grave, busy face, as 
if you were still in great care for some great per- 
son's health, though your meditations, truly known, 
are only employed in casting where to eat that day. 
Secondly, be sure you keep the church strictly 
on Sundays, and i'th' middle o'th' sermon let 
your man fetch you out in great haste, as if 'twere 
to a patient ; then have your small agent to hire 
forty porters a day to leave impertinent notes at 
your house, and let them knock as if 'twere upon 
life and death. These things the world takes notice 
of, and you're cried up for a man of great practice, 
and there's your business done. 

Bod. Believe me, these are good instructions. 

Othen. Nay, I have more. Be sure you in- 
gratiate yourself with the bawds, pretending to 
cure the poor whores for charity; that brings 
good private work after it. Strike in with mid- 
wives too, that you may be in the council for 
by-blows ; that secures a patient during life. And 
with apothecaries and nurse-keepers go snips. But 
above all, acquire great impudence, lest you be out 
of countenance at your own miscarriages. 

Bod. I am so well stocked with that, that if 
ever impudence come to be worshipped as a deity, 
they'll set me upon a pedestal for their god. 

Lea. But to our business, Doctor ! You know 
we persuaded the old man that we must say and do 
all things to humour his seeming mad daughter, 
and by that only way she is to be recovered. 

Bod. Eight ! and the old man believes it too. 

Lea. Therefore, when we are there, you shall 
hold the father in discourse whilst I whisper her ; 
and as she and I will manage her madness, my 
brother shall marry us to the old man's face. 

Bod. By my troth, that would be impudently 



94 THE DUMB LADY. 

done indeed ; yet the old gentleman has now so 
much confidence in us that we may do anything. 

Lea. Therefore pack up your pretended physic, 
and let us cheerfully about it. 

Enter Nurse. 

Mir. Save you, gentlemen! you are much 
longed for 1 My old master does so talk of the 
Doctor, and my young mad mistress of the Pothe- 
cary, that you must come with all speed, for my 
mistress is so stark mad that my master has sent 
for three or four learned doctors ; and you must 
make haste, and bring all your learning with you, 
for you must sit in consultation with them. 

Dod. In consultation with doctors 1 'Heart, 
all is spoiled again, and worse than ever 'twas ! 
Tell your master plainly, Nurse, consultation with 
doctors is not my way of practice,— a company of 
wrangling fellows, they can never agree. Besides, 
he undervalues me to think I am not able to cure 
her without help. But, Nurse, go into my cham- 
ber and turn over St. Aratine's book till I talk 
with my Pothecary. 

Nur. With all my heart, dear Doctor ! 

[Exit Nurse. 

Lea. This is the unfortunatest cross that e'er 
befell me ! 

Dod. The devil hath conspired against you, so 
farewell for an unlucky wretch. I'll put on my 
apron and profess farrier again ; and then, let the 
doctors and the devil come, I defy them. 

Ijea. Nay, nay ! stay, Doctor, and let us con- 
sider. [Offers to go. 

Dod. Consider ? Do you think I can support 
an argument with able physicians ] 

Othen. Come, be not dismayed, for we will go if 






THE DUMB LADY. 95 

there were a whole college of physicians. I am a 
scholar, and a proficient in physic, and those ques- 
tions that you cannot answer put them upon me, 
and doubt not but we will baffle them all ; there- 
fore we must be wary, and not talk too much of 
Padua, for ten to one but some of 'em has been 
there, and they are strict Galenists ; therefore we 
must be chemists. Now you must not call my 
brother your apothecary, nor me his apprentice ; 
that will not sound like an outlandish physician. 
Therefore call him Hurnatio, your operator, and 
me Stirquilutio, his man. 

Loci Well, boys, you have so encouraged me 
that I have just now a trick come into my head to 
bafflle them all myself. 

Lea. Oh, brave Doctor! What ig'tl What 
is't? 

Loci You shall know. But Nurse must be in 
the plot. 

Lea. By no means i' th' earth ! She'll betray us 
all. 

Loci Fear nothing, for I've promised to poison 
her husband and marry her, and allow her half-a- 
dozen gallants ; and if that will not make her true, 
I have no art to gain a woman. 

Lea. That may go a great way, but 

Loci But me no buts ! Nurse ! nurse ! 

Enter Nurse. 

Nur. Here, my dear Doctor ! 

Loci Nurse, tell your master that I am resolved 
to consult with the doctors ; but 'tis for thy sweet 
sake, I'll swear, Nurse. Therefore, my dear Nurse, 
if thou lovest mirth, and wilt be true to me, we'll 
put such a trick upon these learned physicians 
that we'll laugh seven years after it. 



96 THE DUMB LADY. 

Nut. Here's my hand and heart, dear Doctor ; 
I'll be true to you. 

Bod. I believe thee. Be sure, Nurse, that you 
be in the room, and when I bid you fetch your 
mistress' water, be sure you go out and bring me 
your own ; and then mark what work I'll make 
with your learned doctors. 

Nut. Why, this will please me above all things, 
most hugely, most strangely ! 

Lea. Ay, but if Nurse should cozen you, and 
neither bring her mistress' water nor her own, 
she would serve you finely. 

Nut. I scorn to be so base, sir ; and if you think 
so, sir, you may be by when 'tis made, sir. 

Bod. Nay, be not angry, Nurse, for my apothe- 
cary — my operator I should say — is to give your 
husband physic when he is to die, and he knows 
I'm to marry you; I've told him all. Nay, he is 
as true as steel. 

Nut. Is he so, sir ? I crave your pardon for my 
hasty speech. The Doctor reports you're as true 
as steel, sir ; and I assure you I honour any gentle- 
man that has either truth or steel in him. I shall 
inform my master of your coming, and I assure 
you, sir, you shall command my water without 
fraud or guile. [Exit Nurse. 

Lea. Let us now consider how to answer these 
learned doctors. 

Othen. That cannot be, for we know not what 
they will fall upon. 

Bod. I find I shall betray myself to be a damned 
farrier; but, however, I'll brazen it out. 

Othen. Doctor, you must be sure you consent 
not to consult in private, which they will desire ; 
because they never agree. Besides, urge that the 
father, Nurse, and we may be admitted : it will be 



THE DUMB LADY. 97 

a good excuse for your worship not to speak 
Latin. 

Doct. But, by the way, you must furnish me 
with a snip or two of Latin to save my credit. 

Othen. That's easily done ; but you must be sure 
to embroil the doctors first with some strange 
questions, to prevent their falling upon you. 

Doct Let me alone, I'll do it. 
And spite of all their scruples, drams, and ounces, 
I will confound these learned Doctor Dounces. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter old Gernette tvith three learned Doctors. 

Ger. Gentlemen, I have made bold to send for 
you again ; and though you could not help my child 
when she was dumb, I hope you may now she is 
mad. 

1 Doct. How ! Is she mad 1 and does she speak % 
Ger. Yes, sir. A famous and a learned man, 

of great skill and wonderful knowledge, gave her 
something, and in a short time she spake, and fell 
into raving fits of madness, and has ever since 
continued so ; and this he told me would be the 
effect of what he then did. 

2 Doct. This is strange. 

3 Doct. Most wonderful ! What was it he gave 
her, sir 1 

Ger. Nay, that I know not ; but I assure you he 
said he could make her speak, and told me her 
disease would turn to madness, and accordingly it 
has proved so. Nevertheless, gentlemen, I desire 
you to join with this learned man, and consider 
how to perfect her cure. 

1 Doct. Why, sir, you tell us wonders of him. 
Where did he study 1 

Ger. I know not ; but he seems to be a great 

G 



98 THE DUMB LADY. 

traveller, for he talked of Tartar Cham, and of 
Padua, and Greenland. 

2 Bod. Tartar Cham and Greenland % This 
must be a mountebank and a cheat. 

Ger. Upon my credit you will not find him so, 
for he has seen all universities ; he is but newly 
come over, and his name is Doctor Drench. 

1 Bod. Drench 1 Why, that's a fitter name for 
a farrier than a physician ! 

Ger. Let his name be as strange as it will, he 
has also strange humours too, for he'll find out 
men's ignorance presently. 

3 Bod. I think we were best begone, lest he 
finds out ours. 

1 Bod. Why, ay, for if he be a chemist, his 
opinion and ours must needs differ, and conse- 
quently not agree in consultation. 

2 Bod. I am, sir, of your opinion, for I think it 
infra dignitatem to hold consultation with mounte- 
banks. 

3 Bod. We know not yet, sir, what the man is. 

1 Bod. If he be a chemist, sir, he is, eo nomine, 
a declared enemy to the Galenical way, to all 
truth and learning, and a denyer of principles, and 
therefore not to be consulted with. 

2 Bod. Right, sir ; contra principia negantem non 
est disputandum. He that replies but with submis- 
sion to sic dixit Galenus is not to be looked on as 
a physician. 

3 Bod. Pardon me, gentlemen, I have known 
some chemical physicians learned and rational 
men ; and, although not strict adherers to the 
Galenical method, proceed with great reason and 
good success, which, I take it, answers all we can 
say or do. 

2 Bod. I profess I think it as bad as murder to 






THE DUMB LADY. 



99 



cure out of the methodical way. Oh, what satis- 
faction 'tis to have a patient die according to all 
the rules of art ! 

Ger. But, sure, it should satisfy your conscience 
better to have them live by rules. 

2 Doct. Come life, come death, to follow rules 
is your satisfaction; and conscience is no ingredient 
within the rules of physic, sir. 

Enter Servant. 

Ser. Sir, the Doctor is come ! 

Ger. Tis well ! 'tis well ! Gentlemen, to end 
this dispute, here is a double fee for each; and, 
pray you, consult with him his way, and be civil 
in 't for my sake. 

1 Doct. Sir, you and yours here hath prevailed 
over us. 

2 Doct. I profess, to serve so worthy and mag- 
nificent a person, I would consult with a farrier. 

3 Doct. A farrier 1 Nay, for a double fee we 
would consult with a gunsmith. 

Ger. Here he is ! pray you salute him. 
3 Doct. We know how to be civil, sir. 



Enter Doctor, Hurnatio, Stirquilutio, and 
Nurse. 

Ger. Save you, sir ! 

Doct. I thank you. 

3 Doct. Save you, sir ! 

Doct. One save you, sir, is sufficient for all ; we 
learned men should hate compliment — verba pauca 
sapiens sapit. — Was that true Latin, Parson 1 

Stir. Brave ! fear nothing ! At them with some 
question ! 

Doct. I shall fall into the farrier. — Well, I find, 



100 THE DUMB LADY. 

gentlemen, you are professed doctors of physic, and 
are met to consult the health of a distracted lady ; 
therefore to the point, and avoid your canting 
words that would stick in a wise man's throat 
and choke him. 

2 Doct. But, sir, 'tis necessary we deliver our- 
selves in proper and learned phrases when we dis- 
course either of physic or distempers — in arte arti- 
ficialiter loquendum ; and withal, sir, 'tis fit that we 
of the consultation should withdraw. 

Doct. No withdrawing, sir ; 'tis not my way. I 
love persons concerned should hear and see what's 
done, that they may judge who are doers and 
who are talkers ; and if you affect the vain-glory 
of learned phrases, my operator Hurnatio and his 
man Stirquilutio shall dispute you, for with 
great pains I have enabled them to argue in all 
tongues, because they know I hate the trouble 
on 't myself. 

Stir. Start a question quickly. 

Doct. I shall only trouble you with one question 
or two myself. First, I ask you whether you 
know the practice of before behind, behind before 1 

2 Doct. Before behind, behind before 1 Why, 
that is something belongs to a horse ! A farrier 
or a blacksmith must answer that question. 

Doct. I know where you'd be presently. In some 
sort 'tis true that you say; yet in Italy both 
women and boys have their before behind, behind 
before, as well as your horses have here. 

Stir. Bravely come off, Doctor ! 

Doct. I know not well your way of practice, but 
the cost you put the people to in that common 
disease called the mourning of the chine, I do 
abominate you for. 

3 Doct. Mourning of the chine 1 With your 



THE DUMB LADY. 101 

favour, sir, that is the disease of a horse, and the 
phrase of a farrier. 

Bod. And, sir, I say again, I call it the mourn- 
ing of the chine, for the word pox is a phrase of 
ill manners; and therefore I think it proper to 
call it the pox in a horse, and civil to call it the 
mourning of the chine in a man. 

Stir. You'll have no need of Latin, Doctor. 

Bod. Look you to that, Parson. — And I must 
tell you I shall spoil the benefit you get by that 
disease ; for I'll advise every man to plant a 
guaiacum tree in his orchard, and a leaf of that at 
any time will cure infallibly ; and that's one of the 
secrets I will reveal to the world, to spoil the 
practice of mountebanks, clap doctors, and bill 
men. 

2 Bod, But will that disease be cured with the 
leaf of a guaiacum tree 1 

Bod. Ay, sir, as I can order it. 

1 Bod, Pray you, sir, how will you order it ? 
Bod. Why, first, sir, I will make you a mash. 

3 Bod. How, sir, that's a farrier's phrase again. 
What mean you by a mash, sir 1 

Bod. Tell 'em, tell 'em, Stirquilutio, and let not 
me be troubled to interpret. 

Stir. Why, sir, the Doctor is so much read in 
the Arabian physicians that he often uses their 
terms. Masha in the Arabic is what quinta essentia 
is in the Latin. 

Bod. Well helped, Parson. — You wonder at my 
phrases, and I at your want of Arabic. Now, sir, 
when any man is troubled with the staggers, we 
do not cut him and slash him in the forehead as 
you do your horses. 

2 Bod, Staggers in a man 1 With your favour, 
sir, vou have talked all this while liker a farrier 



102 THE DUMB LADY. 

than a physician ; and I begin to think you are 
one, sir. 

Bod. How shall I get off now 1 

Stir. Yes, sir, he is a farrier, and an able farrier 
too; for if you be not good farriers, and good sur- 
geons too, you deserve not the name of doctors. 

Hur. And pray you, come to the point concern- 
ing our mad patient. 

Bod. Ay, there's the best trial of our judg- 
ments ; therefore, Nurse, run and fetch your young 
mistress' water presently. 

Ger. Ay, that the gentlemen may the better 
judge what to apply ; and I beseech you, gentle- 
men, agree, that I and my child may find comfort 
from you. 

3 Bod. Sir, you shall be sure of all the aid our 
art can show. 

Bod. And likewise our endeavours, sir. 

2 Bod. But, sir, amongst all signs of sickness or 
health, whereby the skilful physician is led into 
the knowledge of the state of the body, two above 
the rest are most certain, which are the pulse and 
urine. 

3 Bod. Ay, whereof the pulse shows the state 
of the heart and arteries, and urine the state of 
the liver and veins. 

2 Bod. Therefore the question is, whether of 
these two severally considered does give the most 
certain signification 1 

Bod. Urine, urine, urine ! which makes me send 
for her water. — Still, I say, Stirquilutio, give 'em 
reasons, and let not me be troubled. 

Stir. Then, I say, Montanus de excrementis says — 

Bod. I say, give them reasons in their own 
mother tongue. 

Stir. Then, I say, the urine above the pulse 



THE DUMB LADY. 103 

gives the most manifest, certain, and general 
signification of all diseases, because with the blood 
it is conveyed into all parts of the body, and from 
thence returns back again in the veins to the liver 
and vessels of urine, and so brings some note of 
the state and disposition of all those parts from 
whence it comes. 

3 Bod. 'Tis wonderful that an under-servant to 
a doctor should have this learning ! 

2 Bod. I doubt whether the master understand 
so much. 

Bod. Say you so, sir? I'll be even with you.— 
Parson, I'll tell that Doctor he is not well, 
and whilst I feel his pulse, convey you this cow- 
itch down his neck. Come hither, sir, I pray you. 

2 Bod. Your pleasure, sir 1 

Bod. You are not well, sir. 

2 Bod. As ever I was in my life, sir. 

Bod. Let me feel your pulse. You accuse me 
of farrier's phrases ; I've another farrier phrase for 
you. You are not well ; you are foundered in 
your body, and it will fall upon your shoulders. 
First, it will begin with a kind of itching, then 
into inflammations and catarrhs ; therefore, look 
to 't, be rowelled betimes. 

2 Bod. I slight your opinion, sir. 
Bod. Well, mark the end on 't, sir. 

Enter Nurse with water, and Nibby. 

Nur. Gentlemen, my mistress presents her ser- 
vice to you, and desires you to be civil to her 
water, and use it with as much modesty as you 
may, for I assure you her virgin water was never 
exposed to public view before. 

3 Bod. Pray give it the stranger. 



104 THE DUMB LADY. 

Doct. By no means, gentlemen; I must have 
your opinion first. — Nurse, art thou true to me 1 
[The Doctors take the water. 

Nur. By my little life, it's my own water, 
Doctor ! 

Doct. By my great life, I'll marry thee to-morrow, 
then. But, Nurse, when I wink at you, you must 
own the water to be yours. 

Nur. I'll do it, dear Doctor ! 

2 Doct. Here is dangerous water, it does not 
show the three regents ; neither is here colour, 
substance, perspicuity, darkness, contents, or 
smell. 

3 Doct. Therefore, the urine being obstructed, 
must needs fly back upon the parts, as to the 
stomach in vomitings, to the belly in dropsies. 

2 Doct. Or to the head in frenzies. Here we find 
plain madness. — 'Slife, I itch most terribly; this 
fellow, sure, can conjure. 

Bur. The cow-itch works, he is at it already. 

Doct. Come on, let me see the water ! Hum, 
ha, here is no madness, nor the least sign on 't. 
Come hither, sir ; is your daughter married ? 

Ger. No, sir ; why do you ask 1 

Doct. Then I say she is a baggage ! She had a 
child lately, and counterfeits madness to keep the 
knowledge on 't from you. 

Ger. Gentlemen, I beseech you believe not this 
scandalous Doctor. Sir, I'll have you punished for 
this defamation. My daughter had a child, you 
wretch ? 

Doct. Come, you're a weak old man. I say 
again that she that made this water has had a 
child lately, therefore let search be made to find 
it out. 

2 Doct. You will do well to examine it, for 'tis 



THE DUMB LADY. 105 

possible it may not be her water, for doctors have 
had such tricks put upon 'em ere now. — This itch- 
ing makes me mad. 

Doct. But they can put no such tricks upon me, 
for my judgment cannot fail me ; therefore, I say, 
look to 't, for there's a child in the case. 

Ger. Call all my servants ! Where's my daugh- 
ter's women? Here must be treachery, and, 
Nurse, you must need know it ! 

Nur. Sir, I do know it indeed, and I crave your 
pardon. 

Ger. What ! Has my daughter had a child, 
then 1 

Nur. No, sir, but you know I have had one. 

Ger. But the Doctor says she that made the 
water has had a child. 

Nur. The Doctor says very true, for 'tis my 
water, sir. 

Doct. I was sure I could not be deceived. 

Ger. Are you sure you speak truth, Nurse 1 

Nur. By my little life do I. Mrs. Nibby can 
witness. 

Nib. Nurse speaks very true, sir. 

Ger. Why did you so bold a thing as this, 
Nurse ? 

Nur. If you'll have the truth, I did it to find 
out which would prove the ablest doctor, and the 
stranger, it seems, is the doctor of doctors, 
i' faith. 

2 Doct. I believe he is, for ever since he felt my 
pulse my back has played the devil. 

Ger. Worthy sir, I once more heartily crave your 
pardon, and must acknowledge you an able and 
faithful gentleman ; and, Doctors, I beseech your 
leaves to make use of this worthy stranger as to 
the cure of my child. 



106 THE DUMB LADY. 

2 Boot. He must cure me too, for the vengeance 
has got into my back parts. 

3 Bod. Sir, we consent, and think you have 
made a worthy choice • so we take our leaves, sir. 

Bod. Nay, gentlemen, I hope you'll stay and see 
our way of practice. Alas ! we cure madness with 
as much ease as you do fevers, and merely with 
humouring them. 

2 Bod. I believe every word he says. 

Hur. 'Tis well you're convinced. brave 
cow-itch ! — Pray, sir, let your child be brought 
forth, that we may despatch. 

Ger. Go, Nurse, prepare her quickly. 

Nur. She is ready, sir. 

[Exeunt Nurse and Nibby. 

Bod. Stirquilutio, go get me a parson's cassock. 

Ger. Why so, sir % why so % 

Bod. Because, sir, you saw in her madness she 
fancied my apothecary, my operator, to be Leander, 
and was much in love with him. 

Ger. She was so, to mv grief. But what then, 
sir? 

Bod. Why, then, sir, if she take him for Leander 
again, you shall see how finely I'll fool her into 
her wits again. 

Ger. Here she comes ! 

Enter Olinda, Nibby, Nurse, and Servants. 

Olin. What ! is all the world got together 1 
Then I hope I shall find Leander amongst them. 

Ger. Again Leander 1 A pox on him ! Who 
knows him, or ever saw him 1 

Nib. None of your household. We hav3 only 
heard well of him ; and I believe she never saw 
him but at church. 

Ger. Like enough ; that's one o' th' ends people 



THE DUMB LADY. 107 

go thither for. I'll take "warning how I ever send 
my child to church again. 

Olin. Are you Leander, sir] 

Bod. Say ay, say ay, Doctor ! 

2 Bod. I am Leander, madam, at your service, 
if my back would give me leave. 

Olin. Thou Leander, beast 1 "Why, thou shrug- 
gest as if thou wert lousey, and wanted a clean 
shirt. Oh, Doctor Devil, have I catched you ! 
Where's my Leander 1 Find him, or I'll tear thee 
into air ! 

Bod. Here ! here, is your Leander, madam. 

[Presents the Parson. 

Olin. Oh, you devil, would you put a false 
Leander upon me 3 Find me out the right, or I'll 
throw thee headlong to that dismal place prepared 
for doctors. 

Bod. Here ! here, madam, is your right 
Leander ! 

Olin. Ay, this is he indeed : now I thank you, 
Doctor — nay, sir, I'll take a course with you ! 
Why, Leander, would you torment me with your 
absence thus 1 

Hut. It was not my fault, Heaven knows ; it was 
your cruel father kept me from you. 

Ger. "Why, rascal Apothecary ! Why say you 
so, you villain ] 

Bod. Tis you are mad ! Gentlemen Doctors, 
you saw how fine and calm she began to be upon 
humouring her. 'Tis you that keeps her mad j I'll 
justify it. 

Ger. Xay, I have done ! I have done ! But here 
is something here that will not be removed. 

Olin. Nay, sir, I'll fetter you from running. 
Doctor, get me a parson. Does none of these 
grave men belong to the clergy 1 



108 THE DUMB LADY. 

2 Doct. No, madam. 

Olin. Bun, run and fetch me one ; they're never 
i' th' way when they should do good. 

Doct. Stirquilutio, put on the parson's coat 
quickly. Madam, have patience ; the parson will 
be here presently. 

Ger. Why so 1 Why so, Doctor 1 Why so 1 

Doct. To bring your child to herself again. Ask 
these doctors else. 

2 Doct. Nay, no doubt they are right, sir, if you 
obstruct them not. I must have his opinion for 
my disease too. 

Doct. Look you ! here is the parson, madam. 

Olin. Oh, welcome, sir ! Nay, not a word out 
of your book, but turn to your text of matrimony, 
and marry us presently ; and pray you, let not 
that old man know we are married. 

Doct. No, no, by no means. You must not 
know, old man, your daughter's to be married. 

Ger. Nay, nay, nay, Doctor ; Doctor, no jesting 
with marriage. 

Doct. Why, are you jealous of my operator? 
Alas, poor wretch ! Why, gentlemen, the man 
has a wife and four children. 

Ger. Has he? And art thou sure of that, 
Doctor? 

Doct. Why, sir, before these gentlemen, if I 
speak false, degrade me of the dignity of a doctor. 

Ger. I believe you and am satisfied, and now I 
am as light and airy as a boy. 

Olin. Who will be my father, and give me to 
Leander? I have a mind to this grave gentle- 
man. Do you refuse me, sir % 

Doct. No, no, no, madam ; go and give her, sir, 
go. Bless us all, you see what a raging fit she had 
like to have fallen into. 



THE DUMB LADY. 109 

Ger. Ay, but I do not like ; I do not know — I 
do not like — I do not know what to say to it. 

Bod. The devil's in you S Why, you have forgot 
the fellow's married. 

Ger. I had forgot, I had forgot; in troth, I 
should laugh to see her thus recovered. Why, 
gentlemen, is not this a strange way to cure mad- 
ness % 

3 Bod. It is so, sir ; but it seems they have the 
experience, the practical part, and truly it seems 
rational. 

Bod. Why, sir, if we can but get her to sleep in 
the belief that she is married to Leander, my life 
for yours she wakes i'th' morning in her right 
senses. 

2 Bod. And sure this back will put me into my 
wrong senses. 

Ger. Ha, ha, ha ! I laugh to think, poor girl, 
how she'll be cozened into her wits again. 

Nur. Master, as I live, they're married in 
earnest ! I'll be sworn, with the very same words 
that I and my husband was. 

Ger. Let them alone ; 'tis all but jest, Nurse. 
Why, the apothecary's married, fool, and has four 
children. 

Hur. Tis true that he is married, but no four 
children, sir ; but we will have four and four to 
that girl. 

Olin. What ! shall we have but eight, Leander ? 

Hur. Fifty, fifty sons, to vie with Priam ! Be- 
sides girls shall be reckoned but as by-blows. 

Nur. Fifty, besides girls ! When shall a poor 
woman get such a husband 1 

Hur. Olin. Now, sir, we both crave your bless- 
ing. 

Ger. Well said, Apothecary ; thou acts it to the 



110 THE DUMB LADY. 

life, i' faith ! Gentlemen Doctors, does he not do 
it well 1 

Hur. I shall do it better yet. Nurse, make a 
sack-posset, and let's to bed presently. 

Ger. No, no, no, no, Nurse ; no going to bed ! 
There you overact it, 'Pothecary. 

Olin. Sir, he is no apothecary, but real Leander, 
and my lawful husband ; therefore we must of 
necessity go to bed, sir. 

Ger. Why, Doctor, this girl is stark mad still. 

Dod. No indeed, she speaks sensibly. What 
would you have a young woman do but go to bed 
when she is married % 

Ger. Why, Doctor, thou overacts thy part too ! 

Doct. In troth, sir, this is neither apothecary, 
operator, nor Hurnatio, but very Leander ; neither 
is this his man Stirquilutio, but his brother, and a 
minister in orders, who has lawfully made 'em 
man and wife. 

Ger. How, villain ! Didst not thou say he was 
married and had four children, and bid me de- 
grade thee of the dignity of a doctor if it were not 
so? 

Doct. I did so, sir, and therefore I'll degrade 
myself. There goes the doctor, and here's honest 
Eobin Drench, the farrier. 

All. How ! a farrier 1 

2 Dod. Did not I tell you he must be a cheat % 

Hur. You have found him so, 'tis much that a 
Doctor wedded to rules and method should be 
cozened by a farrier; for you have no disease, 
'twas only a little cow-itch put down your back. 

2 Dod. A pox upon you and all your cheats ! 

Ger. Oh, this cursed farrier ! this cursed villain ! 
Then you are not mad, lady 1 

Olin. No, sir; neither was I mad or dumb, but 



THE DUMB LADY. 1 1 1 

counterfeited both to cozen the Squire and you, 
sir. 

Ger. And you, sir, were Leander when you 
brought me the letter from Leander ? 

Lea. Yes, sir. 

Ger. And you told me that Leander would steal 
my daughter, and gave me good counsel to look to 
her? 

Lea. I did so, sir. 

Ger. 'Twas good counsel, if I could have taken 
it. That cursed letter feigned from Leander 
cozened me ; that got them credit with me, spite 
of my jealousy. Thou art a pretty fellow, I con- 
fess, but the most impudent and audacious villain 
to marry my child against my will, and before my 
face too, gentlemen. 

Olin. Do you think I'd have been married but 
in my father's presence 1 Not for all the world. 

Lea. 'Twas love forced us to make this shift, sir. 

Ger. A pox of love, for that's the end on 't ! 
Did not I tell thee all along that thou wouldst 
cozen me 1 

Lea. You did so, sir, but love can take no 
warning. 

Ger. For my revenge, I'll to bed and fall 
desperately sick, make my will, and die, and leave 
thee ne'er a groat, that thou and thy issue may 
starve and perish. [Exit Gernette. 

Olin. Fear not, Leander ! When this fit is over, 
he's to be reconciled, fear not ! 

Doct. Gentlemen Doctors, I hope 'tis no dis- 
paragement to you that a poor farrier, by a com- 
bination with Nurse, has cured a madwoman. 

Nur. Ay, but where is my reward for it 1 

Doct. Faith, Nurse, if thou wilt accept of a 
farrier instead of a doctor, I'll love thee still. 



112 THE DUMB LADY. 

Nur. A pox on you for me ! My heart is so set 
upon the white periwig that I shall ne'er be my 
own woman again. 

Enter Jarvis, Isabel, and many Neighbours. 

Jar. Where is my master % Here is witness 
enough now that he is no doctor, but a drunken 
farrier. These are all his neighbours, gentlemen ! 

Bod. I confess I am a farrier ; they all know it 
too. But can my neighbours bear witness thou'rt 
no cuckold ? 

Isa. No ; but here is witness that I am thy wife, 
and that I am not mad. 

Bod. I'll own that too ; thou art my wife, and 
not mad — nay, more than that, I'll go home and 
live with thee. 

Lea. Well, I'll give you a pension of fifty pounds 
a year for the good service you did me in your 
reign of Doctor. 

Bod. I thank you, sir. And, Jarvis, thou shalt 
have thy wife again, that thou may est have a 
foundation for thy jealousy ; for I find when thou 
art not jealous thou'rt a dead man. 

Soft. Save the Squire ! Save the Squire ! Save 
the poor Squire ! 

[The scene opens, and the Squire is discovered 
hanging in a cradle. 

Olin. Is not that the Squire's voice 1 

Nib. Yes, and 'tis high time to let him down 
now. Open ! open ! Come, Squire, will you quit 
your interest in your mistress now to be set free '? 

Soft. Ay, with all my heart, and the devil take 
her to boot ! — [Let him down.] — I have hung so 
long in the air that the household took me for 
Mahomet's tomb, and paid my worship with their 
piss-pots out of the garret, I thank 'em. 



THE DUMB LADY. 113 

Nib. I caused it to be done ! 

Nur. I was joined with her in commission of the 
member vessels. 

Nib. But, Squire, since you ha' lost your mis- 
tress, what think you of marrying the wild Irish 
chambermaid % 

Soft. Who 1 ? Madam Pogamihone 1 ? I'll marry 
my mother's sow first. 

Lea. But, Squire, when shall you and I fight 
another duel % 

Soft. Sir, if I were a man that were given to 
quarrelling, as sometimes they say in my drink I 
am, I'd have you know that I am able to beat and 
cudgel half-a-dozen such fellows as you are ; ay, 
and make you creep under the tables and joint- 
stools, sir. Nay, I could cudgel you under a 
candlestick, sir ; that is, if I were a man that were 
given to quarrelling. 

Lea. I am very happy that you are a man not 
given to quarrelling. 

Soft. So you are, sir; but if I were given to 
quarrelling, here's a leg that is four and twenty 
inches about, that's three inches more than any of 
the King's cables, sir ; and I'd have you know, sir, 
that I am able not only to kick you downstairs, 
but kick you upstairs again, sir. Still, that is, if 
my leg were given to kicking, or I to quarrelling. 

Lea. Well, sir, we are all blest, that your leg 
of four-and-twenty inches about is not given to 
kicking. Nurse, let the sack-posset be made. In 
the interim we'll dance, and have the song of 
Arthur O'Bradley, where Christopher carried the 
custard. 

Doct. And Bartle the beef and the mustard. 



114: THE DUMB LADY. 



Dance. 

Lea. Come, my Olinda, let us in and prove 
The sweet rewards due to our virtuous love. 

[To Olinda. 
Othen. Ay, ay, to bed ! you now need fear no 
proctor, 
But thank your farrier cudgel'd to a doctor. 



EPILOGUE. 

You that are learn'd, expect honour for it ; 
We that are unlearn'd slight and abhor it. 
The rich does look with scorn upon the poor, 
But give no alms ; the beggar scorns you more. 
Thus does the wretch your wealth disdain j nay 

worse, 
For each proud look the beggar gives a curse. 
But give him alms, as I believe 'tis rare, 
The beggar gratefully returns his prayer. 
So when the unlearn'd by the learn'd improve, 
They'll give them honour for their learned love. 
But stead of that, the unlearn'd they indite, 
And proudly ask us how we dare to write 1 
We humbly answer our indictment thus, 
If poetry be fancy, the right's in us ; 
For you with authors are so deeply read, 
Invention has no room in learned head ; 
Borrowing what you read, and authors citing, 
Is your invention, and your writing. 
Now th' illiterate are for fancy bent, 
Having no learning they must needs invent. 
Thus poetry is ours to inherit 
As much as yours with your learned merit ; 
For as Quakers preach, we write, by the spirit. 






THE OLD TEOOP 



MONSIEUR EAGGOU. 



The Old Troop; or, Monsieur Raggou. As it was acted 
at the Theatre Royal. By John Lacy, Gent. London; 
Printed for William Crook and Thomas Dring, within. 
Temple-Bar, and at the White-Lyon next Chancery Lane 
end in Fleet Street. 1672. Mo. 



The Old Troop; or, Monsieur Raggou. As it is acted 
at the Theatre- Royal. By John Lacy, Gent. London; 
Printed for Benj. Tooke, at the Middle -Temple Gate in 
Fleet Street. 1698. Mo. 



Of this piece Langbaine affords scant information. He 
"fancies by the style it is founded on some French 
original," like the Dumb Lady, "tho' my small acquaint- 
ance with French poets makes me speak only on conjecture. 
Both it and the Dumb Lady were acted with universal 
applause." 

Sir Walter Scott, in his novel of Woodstock, vol. ii. 
chap. 2 (12mo, ]832), has taken a hint from our author. 
Sir Henry Lee, addressing Captain Wildrake, the cavalier, 
says: "I am glad this dilapidated place has still some 
hospitality to offer you, although we cannot treat you to 
roasted babes or stewed sucklings — eh, Captain?" Wild- 
rake replies : ' ' Troth, Sir Henry, the scandal was sore 
against us on that score. I remember Lacy, who was an 
old play-actor, and a lieutenant in ours, made drollery on 
it in a play which was sometimes acted at Oxford when our 
hearts were something up, called, I think, The Old Troop." 

To these passages Sir Walter appends an interesting 
note, which he titles Cannibalism imputed to the Cavaliers. 
He says : ' ' The terrors preceding the Civil Wars which 
agitated the public mind rendered the grossest false- 
hoods current among the people. When Charles i. ap- 
pointed Sir Thomas Lunsford Lord- Lieutenant of the 
Tower, the celebrated John Lillburn takes to himself the 
credit of exciting the public hatred against this officer and 
Lord Digby, as pitiless bravoes of the most bloody-minded 
description. Of Sir Thomas in particular, it was reported 
that his favourite food was the flesh of children, and he was 
painted like an ogre in the act of cutting a child, into steaks 
and broiling them. The Colonel fell at the siege of Bristol 
in 1643, but the same calumny pursued his remains, and 
the credulous multitude were told — 

" ' The post who came from Coventry, 
Riding in a red rocket, 
Did tidings tell how Lunsford fell, 
A child's hand in his pocket.' '" 

Many allusions to this may be found in the lampoons of 
the time, "although," says Dr. Grey, "Lunsford was a man 



120 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 

of great sobrietj^, industry, and courage. " Butler says that 
the preachers — 

" Made children with their lives to run for't, 
As bad as Bloodybones or Lunsford." 

"But this extraordinary report, " Sir Walter goes on to 
observe, "is chiefly insisted upon in a comedy, called The 
Old Troop, written by John Lacy, the comedian. The 
scene is laid during the Civil Wars of England, and the 
persons of the drama are chiefly those who were in arms for 
the King. They are represented as plundering the country 
without mercy, which Lacy might draw from the life, 
having, in fact, begun his career as a lieutenant of cavalry 
in the service of Charles i. The troopers find the peasants 
loath to surrender to them their provisions, on which, in 
order to compel them, they pretend to be in earnest in 
the purpose of eating the children. A scene of coarse but 
humorous comedy is then introduced, which Dean Swift 
had perhaps not forgotten when he recommended the eating 
of the children of the poor as a mode of relieving the dis- 
tresses of their parents. " Here he quotes largely from TheOld 
Troop, Act iii., which see at page 173 of the present volume. 

"After a good deal more to this purpose, the villagers 
determined to carry forth their sheep, poultry, etc., to save 
their children. In the meantime, the cavaliers are in some 
danger of being cross-bit, as they then called it — that is, 
caught in their own snare. A woman enters, who announces 
herself thus : — 

Worn. By your leave, your good worships, I have made 
bold to bring you in some provisions. 

Fer. Provisions ! Where is thy provisions ? 

Worn. Here, if it please you ; I have brought you a couple 
of fine fleshy children. 

Cor. Was ever such a horrid woman ? What shall we do ? 

Worn. Truly, gentlemen, they are fine squab children ! 
Shall I turn them up ? — they have the bravest brawn and 
buttocks. 

Lieut. No, no ; but, woman, art thou not troubled to part 
with thy children ? 

Worn. Alas, sir, they are none of mine — they are only nurse 
children. 

Lieut. "What a beast is this ! Whose children are they ? 

Worn. A laundress,* that owes me for a year's nursing. I 
hope they'll prove excellent meat ; they are twins, too. 

* The word in the original play is '"Londoner's." 



INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 121 

Rag. Aha ! but — but begar we never eat no twin shild ; the 
law forbid that. 

"In this manner the cavaliers escape from the embar- 
rassing consequences of their own stratagem, which, as the 
reader will perceive, has been made use of in the preceding 
chapter." 

This play was produced at the Theatre Royal on 31st July 
1668, and Pepys went to see it. " To the King's house, to 
see the first day of Lacy's Monsieur Raggou, now new acted. 
The King and court all there, and mighty merry — a farce. 
Thence Sir J. Minnes giving us, like a gentleman, his 
coach, hearing we had some business, we to the Park, 
and so home. " 

Geneste, in noticing it, says: "This farce in five acts 
was written by Lacy, who no doubt acted Raggou ; the 
piece, however, is printed without the names of the per- 
formers. Most of the characters are officers or privates in a 
troop of horse in the service of Charles the First, at the time 
of the Civil Wars ; some Roundheads are also introduced. 
It is remarkable that Lac}j should represent the subalterns 
in this troop as plundering the country in a shameful 
manner." He further says: "Old Troop was not pub- 
lished till 1672, but it is sufficiently clear that it was acted 
before The Vestal Virgin, as in the first epilogue to that 
play Lacy speaks of himself as having been once a poet ; in 
the second he says : 

" ' "Well, if nothing pleases but variety, 
I'll turn Raggou into a tragedy. 
"When Lacy, like a whining lover, dies, 
Tho' you hate tragedies, 'twill wet your eyes. 
Letters of Marqiie are granted everywhere, 
* * * * 

Which makes poets and Dutchmen certain prize ; 
All that I wish is, that the Dutch may fight 
With as ill fortune as we poets write.' 

"These lines," he remarks, "must have been Avritten 
soon after the declaration of war against the Dutch, which 
was made the beginning of 1665, N.S." He therefore 
assumes that The Old Troop appeared upon the stage in 
1665. 

The Vestal Virgin, or the Roman Lady, just referred to 
as to its epilogue, is a tragedy by Howard. ' ' In this play, 



122 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 

as originally acted," Geneste observes, "all the principal 
characters but two are killed, and, just as the tag is spoken, 
Lacy entered to speak the epilogue : — 

'"By your leave, gentlemen, 
After a sad and dismal tragedy, 
I do suppose that few expected me.' 

"An alteration was afterwards made in the conclusion 
of the 4th act, and almost all the 5th was written afresh. 
According to this change, only one of the characters dies. 
Lacy came on as before, but, finding most of them alive, he 
said there was no use for him, and that the poet had spoiled 
his epilogue." 

The Old Troop was performed on 30th July 1707 with 
this cast : — "Raggou, Bowen ; Captain, Keen ; Lieutenant, 
Yerbruggen ; Cornet, Booth ; Lancashire Trooper, Johnson ; 
Ferret-Farm, Bullock ; Two Neighbours, Norris and Pack ; 
Biddy, Mrs. Pater." The piece was represented at intervals 
over the next ten years, but there is no record of it beyond 
that. 

The young Prince George, to whom the play is dedicated, 
was the youngest son of Barbara Villiers, daughter of the 
accomplished and amiable Yiscount Grandison. She became, 
the wife of Boger, Earl of Castlemain, of the kingdom of 
Ireland, and one of the mistresses of Charles n. Banks 
observes, in his Dormant and Extinct Baronage of England,* 
that "she was a lady of great beauty and personal accom- 
plishments ; Collins says, ' of personal virtues, ' which 
seems difficult to accredit, when the fruit of her illicit 
amours with the amorous King evidenced that she had no 
virtue at all." 

So high an opinion had the monarch of her "personal 
virtue," that he was graciously pleased in 1670 to create 
her Duchess of Cleveland, Countess of Southampton, and 
Baroness of Nonsuch, with remainder to Charles Fitzroy, 
the eldest of his natural children by her, and, in default of 
issue male, to his brother George, "the young prince," who 
was in 1674 created Earl of Northumberland, Viscount Fal- 
mouth, and Baron of Pontefract. In 1682 he was created 
Duke of Northumberland. He married Catherine, daughter 
of Thomas Wheatly, Esq. of Breknol, in Berkshire, the 
widow of Thomas Lucy of Charlcote, in Warwickshire. He 

* Vol. iii. p. 197. London, 1809. 4to. 



INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 123 

died in 1716, leaving no issue. According to Evelyn, this 
marriage was a very mean one, and he, "with the help of 
his brother Grafton, attempted in vain to spirit her away."* 

His virtuous mother surviving her husband, the Earl of 
Castlemain, who died in 1705, took as a second husband 
Kobert Fielding, commonly called Beau Fielding, from 
whom she was very speedily separated judicially. Her 
Grace departed this life at Chiswick, 1709. 

Evelyn met the Duke at dinner in the house of Sir 
Stephen Fox (24th July 1684). " He seemed to be a young 
gentleman of good capacity, well-bred, civil, and modest, 
newly come from travel, and had made his campaign at 
the siege of Luxemburgh. Of all his Majesty's children, 
of which he had now six Dukes, this seemed the most accom- 
plished, handsome, and well shaped. What the Dukes of 
Eichmond and St. Albans will prove, their youth does 
not yet discover; they are very pretty boys." The same 
writer, in another part of his diary, 18th November 1685, 
describes the Duke as " a graceful person, and an excellent 
rider. " 

The immediate elder brother of the Duke of Northumber- 
land, Henry Fitzroy, was born on the 20th September 1663, 
and was created by his father, 16th August 1675, Viscount 
Ipswich and Earl of Euston, and in the month of Septem- 
ber following Duke of Grafton. " From his youth he 
evinced," says Collins, "a brave and martial spirit, addicted 
himself first to the experience of maritime affairs, serving in 
several naval engagements under Sir John Bury previous to 
his elevation to the peerage. Subsequently he turned his 
attention to military affairs, and commanded a part of the 
forces of King James against the Duke of Monmouth, re- 
ceiving at the siege of Cork a shot which broke two of his 
ribs on the 21st of September 1690. After lingering for a 
fortnight, he died at the early age of twenty-seven, and his 
body was taken to England, and buried at Euston, in Suf- 
folk. He was in this way not older than twenty-four when 
he assisted his younger brother of Northumberland, three 
years his junior, to spirit away his Duchess. " 

It is evident that the youthful Northumberland had been 
entrapped by the widow of Charlcote, whose wiles, based on 
past experience, he had found it difficult to resist. From the 
character previously given by Evelyn of this prepossessing 

* Diary, vol. ii. p. 251. (29th March 1686.) 



124 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 

youth, it is matter of regret that he ventured to enter the 
lists with a widow. "Ware hawk," said Dirk Hatterick ; 
" Ware widows," the Duchess of Cleveland should have said 
to her son. 

The Duke of Northumberland had no children by these 
inauspicious nuptials. He held the office of Chief Butler of 
England, in which he was succeeded by his brother, the 
Duke of Cleveland, upon his death at Epsom, in the 51st 
year of his age, 28th June 1716. 



TO THE YOUNG PRINCE GEORGE, THIRD SON TO 
HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 

Sir, — I acknowledge that I am no less un- 
worthy to appear before you than I was before 
your elder brother, having in me the same duty 
and reverence for your high blood, and the same 
equal regard for your person. Yet I come with 
confidence to you ; for, having found so affable and 
sweet a reception from your dear brother, I ought 
not at all to doubt of yours. Since his great 
blood runs in your veins, you must also retain his 
virtues ; and in you they are justly called so. Yet 
they are not so in all men ; for if slaves and ser- 
vants and meaner men prove affable and humble, 
it is not virtue in them, because it is their duty ; 
but in you, being adorned with all your great- 
ness, it shows so rich a goodness in you that all 
men are obliged to return you honour for it, which 
I do with my heart and all my faculties. I also 
present you, Sir, with a poor Frenchman. Mon- 
sieur Kaggou, being party perpale trooper and 
cook. I tender him to you in his own equipage, 
just as he landed, with not so much as a shirt to 
his back ; but that is no new thing to the English 
nation. Therefore, Sir, receive him as an object 
to exercise your charity upon ; being naked, clothe 
him; let him but wear your livery, and he will 
not only be received, but be made welcome to all 
men. Lay your protecting hand upon him, and he 



126 THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY. 

is safe from the malice of his enemies. And, Sir, 
as I am bound, so I pray that you may want no 
one virtue that may make you up a miracle. May 
your great blood appoint you to cut your own for- 
tune out, and may you do it with such success 
and valour that all men of courage may honour 
you, and the rest of the world fear you. — And this, 
Sir, shall always be the prayer of your obliged 
and most obedient servant, 

John Lacy. 



THE EPISTLE TO THE READER. 

Epistles, 'tis true, are customary, but I think as 
unnecessary as funeral sermons, for they must 
either insinuate and flatter grossly, or else say 
nothing to the purpose. For my part, I cannot 
imagine, reader, what to say to thee, unless, like a 
raw preacher, I swerve from my text, and instead 
of a modest apology for my bold printings, tell 
thee a tale of Maestricht being taken, or the Dutch 
bang'd at sea; and to do that were to rob the 
Gazette, and so be called in question for intrench- 
ments. What then shall I say 1 Shall I praise 
my play to thee 1 No ; that were to be a vain- 
glorious ass, and in thy power, reader, to prove me 
so. What, then 1 — shall I decry it 1 No ; that 
were to break the stationer, that perhaps has paid 
too dear for it. What, then ] — shall I discover 
the plot and intrigue of the play to thee 1 No ; 
to speak of the plot in the epistle were to fore- 
stall the reading of the play, and so damn the sale 
of it. Instead, then, of an ingenious epistle to 
divert, I beg a crafty boon, reader, that some one 
eminent leading voice amongst you will be for 
once so kind as to give an excellent character to 
the world of this my play, and by that decoy 
people may be drawn in to buy it off; so that, as 
I have cozened the stationer, by this means the 
stationer may overreach you ; and in so doing, 
reader, you will most highly oblige your humble 
servant, 

John Lacy. 



PROLOGUE. 

To you that judges are i' th' public street 

Of ballad without sense, or even feet ; 

To you that laugh aloud with wide-mouth'd grace, 

To see Jack Pudding's custard thrown in 's face — 

To you I do address ; for you I write ; 

From you I hope protection here to-night. 

Defend me, my friends of th' upper region, 

From the hard censure of this lower legion. 

I was in hope that I should only see 

My worthy crew of th' upper gallery. 

What made you wits so spitefully to come 1 

To tell you true, I'd rather had your room. 

Order there was, and that most strictly gi'n, 

To keep out all that look'd like gentlemen. 

You have e'en bribed the doorkeepers, I doubt, 

Or else I'm sure they would ha' kept you out. 

You must nor censure poet nor his play, 

For that's the work o' the upper house to-day. 

Deal you, Sirs, with your match, your Dry den wit, 

Your poet-laureate both to box and pit. 

It is some conquest for to censure him 

That's filled with wit and judgment to the brim : 

He is for your censure, and I'm for theirs, 

Pray therefore meddle with your own affairs. 

Let wits and poets keep their proper stations ; 

He writes to th' terms, I to th' long vacations. 



THE PERSONS' NAMES. 

Captain, ] 

Lieutenant, > Of the Troop. 

Cornet, J 

Tom Tell-Troth. 

Raggou. 

Flea-Flint, Plunder- Master-General 

Captain Ferret-Farm. 

Quarter-Master Burndorp. 

Biddy, the Cornet's Boy. 

Dol Troop. 

Troopers. 

Constables. 

Painter. 

Carpenter. 

Servants. 

Women and Children in abundance. 



ROUNDHEADS. 

Governor of a Garrison. 

Captain Holdforth. 

Captain Tubtext ; and his two holy Sisters. 



AN OLD TROOP; 

OR, 

MONSIEUR RAGGOU. 

Act i.— Scene i. 
Tell-Troth and Dol Troop. 

Dol. I have heard your story, and much pity 
you. But in truth I am a wicked, a very wicked 
woman, for I never did one good deed in all my 
life ; and I doubt you're unlucky, that your fate 
directs you to me. 

Tell. I find you have opportunity to do good, 
and will, to serve me ; and for reward, if that 

Dol. Nay, y' are liberal enough ; you understand 
the world, for money creates good and evil ; and 
I, that never thought of doing good, will now 
heartily endeavour it. Go to my quarters, for I 
have a great deal of roguery to act for myself, 
besides the good I am to do for you. 

Tell. Inquire all you can into the last thing you 
spoke of, for I confess that troubles me. If she 
proves but honest, I'll forgive her wildness. 

Dol. I'll do it with all the craft I can. 

[Exeunt. 



132 THE OLD TROOP. 

Enter Lieutenant, Flea-Flint, Ferret-Farm, 
and Burndorp. 

Flea. Good morrow, good morrow, Lieutenant. 

Lieut Precious rogues ! what brave honours 
and titles you have arrived at in the wars, rascals ! 
Plunder-Master-General Flea-Flint! What Prince 
can give thee so great a title ? — a great credit for 
my colonel, rogue. Then here's Captain Ferret- 
Farm, an honourable gentleman ; for always, when 
we are fighting, you are ferreting the farms, and 
searching the women for letters of intelligence, you 
damn'd rogue ! Then here's the Quarter-Master 
Burndorp, a rogue that, when we have brave large 
quarters assign'd, you sell half of 'em, and then 
truss us up nine or ten in one house together. A 
pox on you, rascal ! 

Burn. But why are you thus cruel, Lieutenant? 

Lieut. Hang you, dogs ! Did not I know you 
at first to be three tatter'd musketeers, and by 
plundering a malt-mill of three blind horses you 
then turn'd dragooners ; and so, quartering in a 
farm where a good team was, you chang'd your 
blind horses for better, and then you commenc'd 
troopers at Oxford ; and when you had plundered 
yourselves into good clothes, you impudently called 
yourselves major, and captain, and quarter-master, 
and then you ran away from your own troop, and 
I entertained you for reformado-ofncers ? you know 
I know this, and yet, you dull, ungrateful rascals, 
you will not know why I am angry ! 

Fer. Why are you angry? 

Flea. Why ? — I'll tell thee why. He wants twenty 
pounds and a good gelding, coxcomb. He must 
have it, too ; I know him well enough. 

Burn. Is that it? He shall have it, and thank 



THE OLD TROOP. 133 

him, too. Pray, accept of this twenty pounds, 
Lieutenant. 

Fer. And we have a good gelding for you, Lieu- 
tenant, as ever you laid leg over. 

Lieut. Why so ? Why will you put me to 't to 
give you ill language 1 ? Cannot you understand 
me without scurvy usage 1 

Fer. I did not understand you, by my troth, 
Lieutenant. 

Lieut. Pray, understand me hereafter. Now are 
you three as honest, harmless fellows ! How dost 
thou do 1 Who dares say that thou wilt flea a 
flint 1 or he search for letters in a wench's placket 1 
or the Quarter-Master burn a town 1 I'll set 'em 
by the heels that say it. Honest Robin, Tom, 
and Dick, when shall we drink a tub of ale to- 
gether *? 

Burn. When you please, worthy Lieutenant. 

Lieut. Get a tub at one of your quarters, and I'll 
come to you. And pray, understand me thoroughly 
hereafter. I believe I shall be very angry within 
this week again ; therefore, pray, take care to pre- 
vent it. [Exit. 

Flea. It were a good deed ne'er to plunder more. 

Burn. Why, prithee 1 

Flea. No thriving on 't for these damn'd officers. 
To put excise and custom upon plundering ! — to 
put toll upon fleaing a flint ! I hold my own 
quarters to be my lawful inheritance as much as 
any man's land or office that is held by old custom 
and time out of mind. 

Fer. Nay, I hold my quarters to be so much my 
own, that the wife, the daughter, and maid-ser- 
vants ought to be in my occupation. 

Bum. I deny that; for the man of the house 
ought to have his wife himself, in case he have a 



134 THE OLD TROOP. 

daughter to furnish you. Nay, the strictness of 
the statute of plundering says, that in case he 
has but barely a maid-servant, you ought not to 
meddle with his wife, or indeed his daughter. 

Flea. I am of the opinion of the gentleman that 
spoke last ; for I am, in my own quarter, lord of 
the manor, and all wefts and strays are mine. 

Burn. I'll say that for thee, a maid cannot go 
a-milking but thou mak'st a weft or stray of her. 

Enter Cornet. 

Cor. Here's the faithful fraternity ! — a league of 
knaves that's never to be broke ! It is a joyful 
thing when brethren plunder together in unity. 
How d' ye, Plunder-Master General % 

Flea. We have all arrived at excellent nick- 
names, to say truth, according to our several 
degrees and ways of plundering ; but you, Cornet, 
have a name that's proper for all cornets to be 
call'd by, for they are all beardless boys in our 
army, for the most part of our horse were rais'd 
thus : The honest country gentleman raises the 
troop at his own charge, then he gets a low- 
country lieutenant to fight his troop safely, then 
sends for his son from school to be his cornet, and 
he puts off his child's coat to put on a buff coat ; 
and this is the constitution of our army : so I salute 
you, Cornet Beardless. Thou art called Ferret- 
Farm because thou art so terrible valiant amongst 
the country bumpkins, and Aspen because thou 
shakest and tremblest in a day of battle. 

Fer. Whoo, pox ! this is absolute malice. 

Cor. There thou art out, for this is neither 
malice nor anger, but downright truth. 

Flea. You abuse him, i' faith ! I have seen him 
up to the chin in blood. 



THE OLD TROOP. 135 

Cor. 'Twas in a saw-pit, then ; yet, when the 
armies meet, I'll say that for him, he will draw 
up as confidently as if he would take a general by 
the beard ; and he will as confidently ride out of 
the army before the battle joins ; and if any man 
ask him whither he goes, he says he is sent for 
orders ; so you hear of him no more, and the next 
day you find him as sure in a saw-pit. 

Fer. Pray let the saw-pit alone, and provoke 
me not ; good men have done the like, therefore 
be not too bold with your betters. 

Flea. Provoke him not, for he's a devil at a 
sword, though he tremble at a gun. 

Fer. A gun, I confess, is as terrible to me as 
thunder and lightning ; they 're out of my element. 
Well, but leave this discourse, and, so you do not 
laugh at me, I'll tell you a story. 

Flea. What is 't 1 

Fer. Why, faith, our Dol's with child, and lays 
it to me. 

Burn. Pox on her ! she was with me this morn- 
ing, and I compounded with her for five pound. 

Fer. The whore had seven of me, by this light. 

Cor. An excellent cunning quean ! She knows 
the family of the Flea-Flints are ever the monied 
men of the troop. I'll make use of my time too ; 
give me ten pound to keep counsel, or I'll make 
you the laughingstock o' th' army. 

Flea. Thou wilt not turn treacherous rogue, 
now, sure 1 

Cor. 'Tis no treachery. Show me a soldier that 
will not take advantage. 

Flea. Ay, of the enemy. 

Cor. For ten pound any man's my enemy or 
friend. There's another principle for you, and very 
fit for the Flea-Flints to make use of. 



136 THE OLD TROOP. 

Burn. We scorn to compound; but we will 
lend you so much money if you will mortgage the 
next fresh quarters. 

Cor. I'll do 't. 

Burn. Then there's your ten pound. 

Cor. Now are you men of inheritance ; now you 
have a good title to every man's goods and chat- 
tels ; and for ten pound more I'll help you to a 
lawyer shall plead it, and make it good to you and 
your heirs for ever. 

Enter Tell-Troth. 

Tell. God give you good morn, sirs ; I pray you, 
which of you is the Captain Commander 1 a 

Flea. Why, friend, we have ne'er a captain here ; 
he lyes leaguer at Oxford, to give the King intelli- 
gence when his troop beats or is beaten. 

Cor. There y' are a scandalous rascal. Some 
captains, I confess, have that trick, but our captain 
always fights his troop himself. But we have a 
good lieutenant here, if that will serve your turn. 

Bum. Ay, he 's too good for us ; I would the 
devil had him ! 

Cor. What's thy business 1 

Tell. I'd be a trooper. 

Fer. And canst thou fight 1 

Tell. Wilt thou try? 

Fer. No ; faith, friend, I believe thee. Wast 
ever a soldier 1 

Tell. Ay, a Parliament one. 

Flea. What ! and didst thou run away 1 

Tell. No, I walked this pace ; I scorn to run. 

Burn. I believe this fellow's a spy. 

Tell. You lie; I am very honest! Now, dare 
you fight ? 

Burn. No, by my troth, not with thee. 



IV 



THE OLD TROOP. 137 

Tell. Then remember, if anybody want the lie, 
you had it last. 

Flea. This is such a fellow as I never met with. 
Yet why didst thou leave the Parliament 1 

Tell. For the same cause that I believe I shall 
leave you. 

Flea. What's that? 

Tell. Because I liked 'em not. 

Fer. Who was thy captain 1 

Tell. One Captain Verily Eett. 

Fer. Of what profession was he ? 

Tell. Of every one's profession, I think. 

Fer. What's that 1 

Tell. An hypocrite. 

Burn. And dost thou come out of love to the 
King ? 

Tell. No ; I come to see fashions. 

Bum. But why didst thou leave thy captain '? 

Tell. Because he is an hypocrite — a yea-and- 
nay knave. He cannot endure to plunder, but, in 
a godly manner, he will take all he can lay his 
hands on. 

Cor. But wilt thou fight for the King out of 
stark love and kindness 1 

Tell. No ; I'll fight for him as all men fight for 
kings — partly for love, partly for my own ends. 
I'll fight bravely for a battle or two, then beg an 
old house to made a garrison of, grow rich, con- 
sequently a coward, and then, let the dog bite the 
bear, or the bear the dog, I'll make my own peace, 
I warrant you ; and, in short, this is my business 
hither. 

Enter Lieutenant. 

Lkui. Where are you, sirs ? The Captain has 
brought orders to march, but whither I know not ; 



138 THE OLD TROOP. 

and, better news than that, he has brought pay, 
boys ! 

Flea. I hope you are not angry, Lieutenant 1 

Lieut. I am not yet, but I shall be very sud- 
denly, therefore provide against it ; the next fresh 
quarter you will have advantage enough. I hope 
we understand of all hands ? 

Flea. Tis sufficient, Lieutenant. 

Cor. But here's the strangest fellow come to be 
a trooper. 

Lieut. He's welcome ! Hast thou a good horse, 
friend % 

Tell. No, but I've a bridle ; and if you '11 enter- 
tain me, I shall quickly have a horse. Are you 
the Captain 1 

Lieut. I am but lieutenant, friend. 

Tell. Ho ! I thought you had all been captains. 
I'm sure you are all call'd so. 

Enter Captain. 

Lieut. But here comes one that is so ; this is a 
very captain. 

Tell. I tell thee that's very much. What's his 
name ? 

Lieut. Captain Honor. 

Tell. Ay ! have you such a thing as honour 
amongst you 1 

Capt. Lieutenant, get your corporals together, 
and give 'em orders to make ready for a march; and 
be sure you charge 'em to see every horse in their 
squadrons shod, otherwise we shall have 'em lye 
behind drinking and plundering, and then pretend 
they stay to shoe their horses. Let me hear no 
more on 't ! 

Tell. 'Tis possible a very captain may be 
honest. 



THE OLD TROOP. 1 39 

Lieut. But, sir, before you do anything, talk with 
this fellow ; he would fain be a trooper. 

Capt. Now, friend, would'st thou be a soldier 1 

Tell. Yes, if I could light of a good side, a right 
cause, and good men to manage it. 

Capt. On my word that's shrewdly put ! Well, 
I'll promise thee a good cause, and some good men ; 
in multitudes all are not virtuous nor valiant. 

Tell. That's well said ; I think I shall begin to 
take a liking to you. But, Captain, I hear a man 
may learn to flea a flint amongst you, to drink and 
plunder. 

Capt. D'ye hear that, rascals 1 But where did'st 
thou hear this report of us 1 

Tell. In a London pulpit. But another sort of 
people told me they preach' d interest more than 
gospel, so that a man knows not which side to 
take. 

Capt. Nay, upon my word, thou art come to the 
right side. 

Tell. I guess as much ; for you talk worse than 
you do, and they do worse than they talk. 

Capt. This is an odd kind of fellow, and I believe 
a dangerous. Friend, withdraw, while I read my 
orders to my officers. 

Tell. A word in your ear first : are you wonder- 
ful honest ? 

Capt. Thou art a strange, blunt fellow. Yes, I 
am honest. 

Tell. But are you wise too t For else the want 
of wit to manage your honesty may make you a 
knave. I know 'tis some men's cases. 

Capt. Thou dost surprise me ! Sure, thou hast 
more business than to be a trooper 1 

Tell. I have so, but I must ask you another 
question ere you know it. Are you staunch enough 



140 THE OLD TROOP. 

to keep a secret] Be not angry — many of your 
party cannot hold ; for tell you news, and you fly 
like lightning to the next man to disgorge it ; and 
so it goes round till it comes to the enemy, and 
thus you betray your business, and intend it not 
neither. 

Capt. I have not heard so dangerous a man. 
Pray, friend, think me worthy to know your busi- 
ness. 

Tell. You shall. And to show you that I have 
business, I know what your orders are. 

Capt. Why, 'tis impossible ! 

Tell. Nothing impossible ; you are to remove 
your troop to Cilstow, there quarter till further 
orders, but not to go to bed, for you are within 
three miles of a little house call'd Thievesden 
Garrison ; and you are to expect a company of foot 
to quarter with you — is this your orders 1 

Capt. You amaze me ! How came you by this 
intelligence ? 

Tell. It came to Thievesden House this morning, 
and so to me. I am their confidant, and would fain 
be yours. 

Capt. Do you not know who sent it 1 

Tell. No, nor they neither; there's the subtle 
carriage of the thing. 

Capt. But pray, sir, let me ask you who you are 1 ? 

Tell. I am a plain, honest-meaning man, a neigh- 
bour to that garrison of Thievesden, and one that 
has div'd into the bottom of both your parties, 
and find that you have faults, but the other great 
wickedness. 

Flea. I do not like this fellow ; he had a fling 
against drink. 

Fer. And plundering; but twenty to one he 
hath paid for 't. 



THE OLD TROOP. 141 

Flea. He had a plaguy jerk at flaying of flints too. 

Capt. What if you went to Oxford with, me ! 

Tell. So I may be hang'd when I come home 
again ] for they will know it as sure. Pray let me 
eat and refresh myself, and then conclude of some- 
thing. [Exeunt. 

Enter Dol, and calls Lieutenant back. 

Dol. Lieutenant, I'd speak with you. 

Lieut. Dol, I'll come to thee presently. [Exit. 

Dol. I cannot say I am with child, but with 
children; for here has been all nations, and all 
languages to boot. If the several tongues should 
work upwards now, and I speak all languages 1 
Why, I am not the first learned woman, but I 
believe the first that ever came by her learning 
that way. If I should have for every man that 
has been dealing here a child, and if the children 
should be born with every one a back and breast 
on, as they were got, bless me, what hard labour 
should I have ! But, for all this, I hope I do not 
go with above a squadron of children. But to my 
business. I mean to lay this great belly to every 
man that has but touch'd my apron strings. I 
thank the law, 'tis very favourable in this point; 
for when I have played the whore, the law gives 
me leave to play the rogue, and lay it to whom I 
wilL 

Enter Lieutenant. 

Lieut. Why, how now, Dol? How go matters 
with you, good Dol % 

Dol. I desire you'd stand my friend, sir ; you see 
my condition ? 

Lieut. Thou wilt not lay thy child to my charge. 
I hope ] 



142 THE OLD TROOP. 

Dol. No, sir, I have more wit ; iny drift is to lay 
it to more than one man or one squadron. Sir, I 
understand there's a month's pay in your hands ; 
and I am resolv'd to lay this great belly to every 
man round the troop. Some I have struck already, 
and they have very fairly compounded with me. 
Some. I suppose, may bustle and stand out ; but 
if you will countenance me, then they must com- 
pound at our rates. 

Lieut. But, Dol, what benefit is this to me 1 For 
I profess no friendship, but follow the general 
principle of mankind. Dol, which is to pick the 
money out of thy pocket to put it into mine. So, 
Dol. in plain terms, what will you give me 1 

Dol. Why, Lieutenant, you shall go snips. 

Lieut. "Why, Dol, we are agreed. But after we 
have struck the troop round, who dost thou pitch 
upon to father it ? 

Dol. "Why, faith. I did design to marry Monsieur 
Baggou, the French cook that rides in your troop. 

Lieut. Thou wilt never endure to live with him, 
'tis such a nasty slovenly rogue. 

Dol. 'Tis no matter for living with him ; I want 
a husband. 

Lieut. He stinks above ground. He has not 
had a shirt on's back time out of mind. 

Dol. That makes it a fit match, for, by my troth, 
I do not deserve a man that's worth a shirt 

Lieut. "Well, Dol, upon the aforesaid terms you're 
sure of me ; play your game with all confidence. 

Dol. "Well, I'll to work amongst 'em presently ; 
or if I might gain you to advance my greater 
desires, which is my cornet's boy that waits on 
him. I am foolish, for I love him strangely, des- 
perately. A hundred pounds, in plain terms, make 
him mine. 



THE OLD TROOP. 143 

Lieut. But, Dol, where is this hundred pound 1 
Dol. I have shark'd these four years, and made a 

shift to scrape four hundred pounds together. 
Lieut. Still, I say, you're sure of me with ready 

money. 

Enter Monsieur Eaggou and his Landlady. 

Well, Dol, away ! here comes Monsieur Raggou 
— step aside ! 

Dot. Oh, let him have his money. If our cornet's 
boy fail, I'll have him, or he shall certainly keep 
the child. [Exit. 

Bag. Landlady ! come, take a my pistol and lock 
in your trunk very safe. 

Land. Yes, sir. 

Bag. Take heed, for begar you will be hang if 
my pistol run away ! 

Land. Lord, I'll take no charge on 't ! 

Bag. You Roundhead whore, lock it up, or me 
will kill you, begar ! 

Land. I'll take all the care I can on 't, sir. [Exit. 

Bag. So, me will steal my pistol from her trunk, 
and say she carry it to de enemy, and den me will 
so plundra de dam whore. 

Enter Bumpkin. 

Stand ! who are you for, Bumpkin 1 

Bum. Lord, sir, I am for nobody ! 

Bag. You dog, be you for de King or de Parlia- 
menta 1 

Bum. Why, I am for pray, sir, who are you 

for? 

Bag. Tank you for dat ! Begar, you be very full 
wid cunning. You will be of my side if me name 
myself first. Speak, you dam dog ! who be you 
for] 



144 THE OLD TROOP. 

Bum. In truth it is not good manners to say who 
I am for ; your worship ought to speak first. 

Rag. Pox take you ! Me be for de Parliament, 
you dog ! 

Bum. Oh, the Lord bless your worship, I am for 
the good Parliament too. 

Rag. Je'rny, I am for de King, you Eoundhead 
dog ! Begar, me will plundra you, soul and body. 

Bum. Oh, good sir, spare me ; I am for the King ! 

Rag. Diable, me will plundra you for being Jack 
of both sides. Diantie, he have but one silling 
about his soul and bodee. Get you gone, you dog ! 

[Exit Bumpkin. 
Begar, me have no luck. Zoun, me plundra every 
day dis tre years, and begar me never get but 
one silling or one sixpenne, begar. Ha ! Monsieur 
Lieutenant, me hear very brave ting of you. 

Lieut. What's that? 

Rag. Me hear you have some largion for Mon- 
sieur la Soldier; pray, how much will come to 
Monsieur Moy 1 

Lieut. Faith, Monsieur, some three pounds. 

Rag. How ! — tre pone ! Whar be de tre pone 1 
How much be tre pone 1 

Lieut. Why, here 'tis, Monsieur; so much as you 
see. 

Rag. Begar, sure you mock a de moy; begar, me 
never see so much money togeder in my life ! Me 
will lye down and tumble in my money, like de dog 
dat tumbla in de carrion; it is so sweet. brave 
Capitain ! brave Lieutenant ! Gad a bless de 
King of England, and de King of France too, when 
he give me tre pone ! Lieutenant, be to be mad a 
dangerous ting 1 

Lieut. Oh, very dangerous. 

Rag. Begar, dere be your tre pone again ! It will 



THE OLD TROOP. 145 

make a me tark a mad ; me no know vat me sail 
do with all dis money. Begar, me admire tre pone 
of all de ting in this varle ; it vill make de great 
Turk de Christian, or de Christian de Turk, better 
den all de argument in the varle. Pray, Lieu- 
tenant, keep dis money for me, one, two, tree year, 
till me take counsel of all my friend in France vat 
me sail do wid dat. 

Lieut. Go to Oxford, and buy some necessaries 
with it ; you are so nasty, nobody is able to come 
near you. Buy some shirts, to keep you sweet and 
clean. 

Bag. Buy some shart ! Me love you very well, 
Lieutenant, but you no understand; for vat sail me 
have some shart 1 

Lieut. To keep yourself sweet, and from being 
lousey. 

Bag. Who can see my shart 1 Here be my 
doublet come close, my coat come over all dat, den 
who de devil see my shart I For vat sail me have 
a shart, when nobody see my shart 1 

Lieut. But then you want stockings and twenty 
necessaries. 

Bag. Me pull up my boot, who see me have a 
stockin ] You vill have a little English tricka, and 
never understand; for vat will you have more ting 
about you den vat vill make a show in de varle 
and everybody can see 1 Pray, let me lay out my 
money to please my own fancee. 

Lieut. With all my heart. 

Bag. Den me will lay it out for my honour, and 
for de honour of de King and my Lieutenant. So 
adieu. Buy shart ! — who see my shart 1 [Exit. 

Enter Dol. 
Dol. Faith, Lieutenant, I'll at him and some of 



146 THE OLD TROOP. 

the rest presently ; therefore leave me to work. I 
am asham'd I am such a fool to doat on a boy ; 
but no remedy. Remember, therefore, and about 
it. 

Lieut. Do you remember the hundred pound, 
I'll work him ; fear not. [Exeunt 



Act ii.— Scene i. 

Enter Dol Troop. 

Dol. Now to my business. My Flintflayer com- 
pounded with me very civilly, that I did fear would 
have outwitted me. I am afraid of nothing but 
an impudent rogue that has no shame in him, that 
will father the child rather than part with his 
money, and so spoil my compounding with the 
rest of the troop. I'll be as wise as I can, so have 
among 'em ! 

Enter a Trooper. 

Troop. What a pox makes she here 1 

Dol. How d' ye, Mr. William 1 I'm come to tell 
you I am gone half my time, that you may provide ; 
for I am quick. 

Troop. Art thou 1 Faith, I'll be as quick as thou 
art, for I'll be in Holland, if the wind serve, to- 
morrow. [Exit. 

Dot. 'Slife, if they should all boggle thus, I should 
make a thin troop on 't. 

Enter Raggou. 

Bag. Oh, Madam Dol ! Ow dee 1 ow dee ? 
Dol. You see how I do. I am near my time ; I 



THE OLD TROOP. 147 

desire you to provide. You swore a thousand oaths 
to me you would keep the child. 

Rag. But me did but swear in French, Madam 
Dol, and dat vill no stand good in English law, 
Madam Dol. 

Dol. Come, sir, come ; I'll make you father my 
child, or I'll make you do worse. Will you com- 
pound 1 

Rag. Me scorn to compone, and scorn to fader 
your shild ! You be a dam whore, Madam Dol. 

Dol. You are a rascal, Mr. Monsieur, and I'll 
make you father the child in spite of your French 
teeth. 

Rag. Begar, Madam Dol, you be de great whore 
de Babylon ! Begar, me vill make appear noting 
can get you wid shild but de maypole in de Strana ; 
and den me can make appear by good vitteness 
dat me have no maypole abouta me. So adieu, 
Madam Babylon ! Pox take you ! — me fader j r our 
dam son of a whore's shild 1 [Exit. 

Dol. You fickle Frenchman, I shall be reveng'd 
on thee ! I'll marry thee, but I'll be reveng'd on 
thee! 

Enter Cornet, Lieutenant, and Biddy. 

But here comes my Cornet and his boy, and the 
Lieutenant. I see he is mindful of my business. 

[Exit. 

Lieut Cornet, I have an earnest, and, by my 
troth, a most pleasant suit to you. 

Cor. You cannot miss the grant of it. What 
is'tl 

Lieut. But first, do you love money 1 

Cor. By my troth, I know not, for I never had a 
sum worth loving in my life yet. 

Lieut. Will fifty pound do any hurt 1 



148 THE OLD TROOP. 

Cor. But what must I do for it? — betray the 
troop to the enemy, or some garrison ? for under 
that I cannot deserve fifty pound. 

Lieut. Towns are not so cheap yet ; though trea- 
son be plentiful, 'tis not grown a drug. But to 
my suit : you are to know that our Dol is des- 
perately in love, and with whom 1 

Cor. Not with me 1 I find I must earn this fifty 
pound. 

Lieut. No such matter; you have too great a 
conceit of your good face. 

Bid. Indeed you lie, Lieutenant, for he can never 
think too well of that face. [Aside. 

Cor. Who is it she is in love with 1 

Lieut. By my troth, with thy boy here ; despe- 
rately in love with thy boy. 

Bid. The devil take her for her pains ! But why 
do I curse her, that am so desperately in love my- 
self ? [Aside. 

Cor. Why, this story is very pleasant, if you 
knew all. 

Bid. Lord, you will not tell him what I am, I 
hope 1 

Cor. Lieutenant, I must deny your suit, for it must 
not be a match ; for the boy is, in plain terms, a girl. 

Bid. The devil take you for telling him ! 

Cor. Why so 1 My lieutenant's very faithful. 

Lieut. A girl ! Let me see your face. 

Bid. 0, you unworthy man ! Good sir, forgive 
me, for I am even ready to scold. 

Lieut. This is the pretty young daughter that 
belong'd to your winter quarters, and so came 
away for love 1 

Bid. Yes, sir ; but if your cornet had been true, 
I had been past love by this time — I had been 
married. 



THE OLD TROOP. 149 

, Lieut Why, are all married people past love 1 

Bid. Yes, sir, of the men's side especially; but, 
sir, I am naturally very merry, and shall be if you 
will but do me the favour to think me very honest. 

Lieut. I shall do you a great favour if I do, for 
I never thought anybody so yet ; but if it please 
you, I'll try your honesty, and then I'll give you 
my opinion. 

Bid. Be not rude when you try me. If you be, 
you were better venture on a maiden cat at mid- 
night, for I shall scratch worse, and so mark you, 
not for my humble servant, but my humble cater- 
wauler. 

Lieut. I could meet such a creature o' th' house- 
top at any hour, and scratch and squeak, and 
tumble down together, and get the prettiest kitlins 
as we fall. 

Bid. I am glad to see you merry, sir, for merry 
people are likely honest. 

Lieut. Well, we'll try ; but if you love mirth, 
consent to marry with this Dol. There's money 
for us all. [Exit. 

Bid. Content, i' faith ! 'Twill be excellent sport 
to marry her, for I love roguery well enough ; but, 
the devil's in 't, she'll know me to be a girl ! 

Enter Dol aloof. 

Cor. No, no ; she shall not come near you, nor 
touch you, till she's brought to bed. Then two to 
one but the troop marches away and leaves her 
behind ; then I'm sure the country bumpkins will 
knock her o' th' head. 

Dol. There's a cornet in grain, i' faith. 

Bid. Troth, you are very charitable. Well, since 
my hand's in at wearing breeches, I'll do all the 
offices of a man. I would I had wherewithal to 



150 THE OLD TROOP. 

perform, for, by my troth, I am weary of our own 
sex. 

Dol. She cries, i' faith ; I like that well. 

Cor. You little fool, you do not cry, I hope 1 

Bid. No, faith, that was but a tear by chance. 
You made me leave my friends, you know, when 
you talk'd of marriage to me ; but not one word 
on 't now you have made me your be-de-boy. 

Dol. I know not what to say to that ! 

Cor. We'll talk of those things when we are 
settled. 

Bid. By my troth, you have put me in such a 
gog of marriage that it will not out of my head ; 
and yet I scorn to ask you to marry me, and I 
ecorn to crack a commandment with you. Was 
not that basely done of you to tempt me ? But I 
shall scold, which is a thing I hate. base fellow ! 
you would be going o' th' score with me for my 
virginity ! Faith, sir, I'd have you know 'tis worth 
ready money at any time ; and, faith, I'll swear it 
shall ne'er go under matrimony. 

Dol. She is honest, i' faith ! I love a virtuous 
woman, though I am none myself; like him that 
lov'd the sound of Greek though he understood 
it not. She is right honest, i' faith ! 

Bid. Marry me, and then halloo, dog, for thy 
silver collar; but till then I'll gnaw my under- 
sheet to the bedcord before you shall have your 
will of me. I am sometimes mad when I think 
how I left my friends. Sometimes I could scold, 
and sometimes I could cry ; and the devil take 
that good face of yours, I can do neither for it ! 

Cor. Come, come ; you trust your person with 
me, and why not your virginity 1 ? How long do 
you think you can hold out at this staunch rate ? 

Bid. Faith, sir, I can hold out till it's fit for no- 



THE OLD TROOP. 151 

body — till I'm past the use of man, before thou 
shalt have it, shameless wretch ! 

Dol. She is certainly honest, and that's half our 
work done ! 

Cor. Come, prithee let's think of our mock- 
marriage with Dol, and after we'll be serious. 

Bid. Why, I'm for that too; but yet I cannot 
choose but cry to see how false you are, and how 
they talk at home of me, She's run away with a 
soldier, and that rascal will not marry her. Oh, 
the devil take you ! I shall never recover that 
credit again. 

Cor. Come, we'll cozen 'em all at last. 

Bid. Nay, I believe thou'lt cozen more than me ; 
for what woman can forbear running away with 
thee that sees those leering eyes, thou bewitching 
devil, thou % 

Cor. Oh, remember you hate scolding, Biddy. 

Bid. I had forgot that, indeed. 

Cor. Nay, prithee, no more of this story. 

Bid. Well, I will not ; but truly I grow weary 
of your unkindness, and I am serv'd well enough 
for scorning a man that doated on me ! 

Dol. A ha ! Ay, marry I That's somewhat, 
indeed. 

Bid. But I see, a cornet with his flying colours, 
and his word, " Have at all," goes a great way 
with a virgin. Who can resist it 1 [Exeunt. 

Enter Captain, Lieutenant, and Tell- 
Troth. 

Capt. Lieutenant, stay and receive orders. But, 
sir, how many companies are there in Thievesden 
garrison ? 

Tell. Ne'er a company ; for not one of 'em will 
be call'd captain of a company, but captain of a 



152 THE OLD TROOP. 

congregation. One is call'd Captain Holdforth ; 
another Captain Tubtext; rogues marked at the 
font for rebellion. 

Capt. Eebellion is the first point of reformation 
always. 

Tell. They are form'd to a new stamp of villany, 
the last impression — that which put the devil into 
a cold sweat. Take the wickedest and worst re- 
puted men you have, and turn them loose to 
plunder, and I defy 'em to make the tithe o' th' 
spoil these hypocrites have done ! 

Capt. You are very bitter. 

Tell. Malice cannot lay 'em open. They lecture 
it thrice a week, and summon the country to come 
in. They that refuse, they take their goods and 
leave 'em ne'er a groat ; and then they say they 
took but their own, for the good creature is the 
inheritance of the people of God. 

Capt. It seems every captain is a teacher, and 
his own company is his congregation, so that they 
hang and draw religion among themselves. No 
doubt most blasphemous villains ! 

Tell. Well, sir, I'll home to-night. March your 
troops to Lavel to-morrow ; stay till I come to you ! 
So fare you well, and I wish a blessing upon your 
good meaning ! [Exit. 

Capt. Lieutenant, be careful how you march to- 
morrow, and take heed I hear of no complaint. 
I'll to Oxford in the morning, to give an account 
of this fellow ! 

Lieut. I hope you'll allow us our old harmless 
drolleries. 

Capt. Ay, most freely. [Exit. 

Enter Cornet. 
Cor. Lieutenant, half the troop will be gone. 



THE OLD TROOP. 153 

Dol has laid her child to 'em all, and they're for 
horse and away ! 

Lieut. What shall we do 1 

Cor. Endeavour to prevent it, that is all that's 
to be said. [Exeunt. 

Enter a Trooper with his arms, and Monsieur 
Kaggou meets him. 

Rag. Ow dee, ow dee, Monsieur Lancashire 1 Vat 
make you have your arms so late at night? Is 
dere alarm % Be de enemy in de quarteer 1 

1 Troop. Worse than the enemy — the devil's in 
the quarter ! Our Dol is with child, and would 
lay it to me ; but I'll lay down my arms and go 
home. 

Bag. Begar, me vil lay down my arms and go 
home too. Ha ! begar, now I tink, me have no 
home. [Exit. 

1 Troop. Captain ! Captain ! 

Within. Who's there 1 — what's the matter 1 

1 Troop. Thomas, 'tis I, the old mutineer. Tell 
the Captain I must speak with him. 

Within. He is but just laid down on the bed to 
sleep a little. Come i' th' morning ! 

1 Troop. Flesh and blood, I will speak with 
him ! 

Captain above. 

Capt. What's the matter % — an alarm % 

1 Troop. Ay, marry is there, Captain ; there will 
be a whole squadron upon you presently. 

Capt. 'Sdeath, my horse presently ! 

1 Troop. The enemy, Dol, is fallen into our 
Lancashire quarters, and has laid her child to our 
squadron. - So here is your back and your breast, 
Captain, and I'll go home. 



154 THE OLD TROOP. 

Enter four Troopers and Raggou. 

2 Troop. Flesh ! we'll father no child, not we ! 
Bag. Begar, me vil fader no shild too. Hey ! 

Monsieur Capitain, here be your one pistole ! 

3 Troop. Captain, we have brought you some 
Lancashire arms; here is some ten or eleven sowze 
kidgiors for you. 

Capt. What the devil ails the fellow ? [Above. 

Bag. Begar, Capitain, me vil keep no shild ; 
your dam Madam Dol have get us all with a 
shild ! 

Capt. Run for the quean to come to me. — I shall 
have all my troop forsake me. Stay, sirs ; I'll come 
to you. I must as well humour 'em as be severe, 
or else no soldiers. [Exit from above. 

Bag. Veil, me do know very well how it sal be 
my shild or no. 

4 Troop. Well, monsieur, and I have a mark 
to know whether it be mine or no as well as you. 

2 Troop. And so we have all. 

Enter Captain and Cornet. 

Capt. My masters, you might have had so much 
manners to have held your complaints till morning; 
but, however, I have sent for Dol, and I'll do you 
justice before I stir now. How now, Raggou 1 
what are thy sleeves stuff' d withal so 1 

Bag. Begar, dis sleeve be my stabla — dere be 
good oata for mine arse ; and dis sleeve be my 
kitchin — dere be meat for myself! Vill you eat 
dis morning, Capitain 1 

Capt. Foh ! your sleeves stink abominably ! 

Bag. Zoun, do you call dat a stinka ? Tis true, 
it have a little huggo f begar, dis sleeve keep your 
* Haut gout. 



THE OLD TROOP. 155 

troop alive — dis sleeve is de physician to all de 
troop. When any man be sick, me set on some 
hot vatera, dere let my sleeve boil one hour in it, 
and dat make de comfortable pottage in de varle. 
Have me not cure you all 1 

4 Troop. Yes, indeed, Captain, he has cur'd us 
twenty times ! 

Bag. Begar, Capitain, me have cure that dam 
whore Madam Dol, and yet for all dat she lay her 
shild a top upon me ! 

Enter Dol. 

Capt. Oh, here she is ! Now, you audacious 
quean, what makes you alarm these people thus % 
Who got you with child 1 Speak, and speak truth, 
I charge you ! 

Dol. Why, then, I will speak truth, an't please 
you. Good Captain, do not fright me ! 

Capt. Well, then, is it his child 2 did he get it 2 

Dol. I cannot say absolutely 'tis his, Captain. 

Capt. Why, is it this fellow's % 

Dol. I cannot say directly 'tis his neither. 

Capt. Is it Monsieur Eaggou's 1 

Dol. I cannot say, to speak truth, 'tis his in par- 
ticular. 

Capt. Death ! you abominable quean, say whose 
'tis, or I'll slit your nose ! 

Dol. Why, truly, I cannot lay it to any one 
man; but, Gad is my judge, 'tis the troop's child, 
Captain ! 

Capt. Was ever such a slut heard of] 

Dol. I desire your worship to believe me in one 
thing. Truly, Captain, and as Gad's my comfort, I 
have been as true and faithful a woman to the 
troop, as ever wife was to a husband, Captain. 

Bag. Oh ho ! are you so 1 Me tink now, Madam 



156 THE OLD TROOP. 

Dol, you are de whore de Babylon : for one whole 
troop may make a maypole. 

Cajjf. Why, this is some honesty yet, that she 
is true to the troop. 

Bag. Child, Capitain ! for ought a me see, dis shild 
be your shild ! 

Co.pt. How prove you that, sir ] 

Bag. Begar, she say de shild belong to de troop, 
and you say de troop belong to you ; derefore de 
shild is your shild, begar ! 

Cap. But I'll make some of you father it. There 
is none of you but have some private mark to 
know it to be your own by. 

4 Troop. Faith, Captain, if it be born with a 
gauntlet and a headpiece on, I'll own it. 

2 Troop. Troth, Captain, if it be born with a 
bridle in its hand, and boots and spurs on, I'll 
own it. 

] Troop. Troth, Captain, I ne'er touch'd her. I 
was about it once, but the jade laid herself so like 
a constable tied neck and heels together, that I 
went to plunder her, and she up and beat me like 
a dog. 

3 Troop. And by my troth, if it be born leading 
a horse into the world, 'tis my child. Captain. 

Bag. Ould ! you every one have a mark to 
know your shild. Madam Dol, before my Capi- 
tain. if your shild be born wid never a shart, den 
it be my shild, for me have had no shart dis forty 
week. 

Enter Ferret-Farm. 

Far. By your leave, Captain. 
Cap. What want you, Aspen 1 
Far. I come to free all these men, and to own 
the child, Captain. 



rzz :i: .?.: :?. 157 

Dai. How ! own my child? The rogue never 
toueh'd me in his life. Captain ! 

Ft H I :l! confess, confess ! Will you have 
the truth. Captain ! 

Capt. Ay, prithee, with all my heart. 

Fer. Why, then, I must confess she goes with 
two children : one I got on the great trunk's end, 
and the other on a staircase — by my life. Captain. 

Capt. I never heard of staircase children before. 

Bag. But vat if de shild be born wid no shart i 
You sail be hang before you fader my shild I 

Dol. Captain, if I were to die to-morrow, the 
rogue never toueh'd ma 

Fer. m cudgel the rogue to death. Captain. 

CapL Hold V hold 

Bag. Let him come. Captain 1 Me vill kill him. 
begar ! [Draws, -and throws off his cost. 

;f. Hold, Dol! I charge you to put up. 
monsieur! 

Bag. Me vill put up. den. 

_ :. ^vot one word more. I charge you, but all 
k or quarters .' Be^- one . Comet, 'tie ::^_r : 
sound to horse ; and take heed I hear of no com- 

Bag. Begar. me nevci see iB hd before ! Diable, 
me be Monsieur Baggou indeed ! Me vill put on 
my coat presan. for, begar. if Monsieur Dunghill- 
raker see me, begar he vill put me in his sack 

~i~ . 

Enter twelve Troopers at six doors — two ai a 

1 Troop. Pox of this French fool ! WL 
he mean to give us all ribbons I We do but laugh 
at hrm 

3 Ir-y.f. His hnnmpffl n I be admir'd. I admire 
he has bought him ne'er a shirt. 



158 THE OLD TROOP. 

2 Troop. He is like the hypocrites that will not 
sing psalms ; because they've ne'er a room to the 
street they cannot be heard. 

4 Troop. And so he'll have ne'er a shirt because 
it cannot be seen. 

Enter Lieutenant, Flea-Flint, Ferret-Farm, 
arid, Burndorp. 

Lieut. Come ! to horse, to horse ! 

Flea. Lieutenant, pray let Monsieur Raggou ride 
before, and make the quarters to-night. 

Fer. Pray do, sir; for every fresh quarter we 
know you expect, and therefore you must wink. 

Lieut. But, sirs, I dare not own you ; for my 
captain is so severe that I protest he'll hang any 
man that plunders, especially you flint-flayers, that 
he has forgiven so often. 

Burn. Why, sir, we'll venture that, for we have 
a way to come off. 

Lieut. Pray, how 1 for if the country com- 
plain, and they discover you, the world cannot 
save you. 

Flea. Why, sir, you know Monsieur Raggou has 
a remarkable coat, with one sleeve always full of 
meat for himself, and the other full of oats for 
his horse 1 

Lieut. Well, what then 1 

Flea. Why, I have such a coat, and I will stuff 
up the sleeves and rob like him. I can spatter 
French, and have everything so like him that your- 
self cannot distinguish. 

Lieut. Well, and how rob the rest 1 

Fer. To satisfy you, in such disguises as the devil 
cannot find us out in. 

Lieut. You'll do well to keep in those disguises 
still, for, i' faith, he'll find you at the long run else. 



THE OLD TROOP. 159 

Well, if you will venture, do ; I'll aid you in what 
I can. 

Burn. If the country complain, they come directly 
to you, Lieutenant. 

Fer. Then you bid 'em describe the men, and 
without peradventure they fall upon the French- 
man with his remarkable sleeves. 

Lieut But suppose he stand it out, and make it 
out where he was in the time of plundering 1 

Flea. That's shrewd, I confess. 

Lieut. Come, I'll help you ! If the countrymen 
come in and describe him, I'll go directly to him, 
and tell him I have orders to seize him, for my 
Captain is resolv'd to hang him. So, out of my 
kindness to him, I'll let him make his escape, and 
I'll warrant he'll away as if the devil drove him ! 

Fer. But suppose he will not go at that neither 1 
for he's impudent enough. 

Lieut. Ha ! if he will not — let me see — I'll write 
a letter and have it ready in my hand, and we'll 
pretend to search him for letters of intelligence, 
and so clap the letter into his pocket and pull it 
out again, which shall be as if it came from the 
enemy, and that, according to his promise, they 
hope he will betray the troop. 

Fer. Ay, marry, this is something ! Needs must 
he go that the devil drives. 

Flea. Then much more must he go that the Lieu- 
tenant drives. I warrant he goes to some purpose. 

Fer. Good ; and when he is gone and fled for 't — 

Lieut. The case is plain, he's guilty. None but 
he could do it. 

Burn. Why, this is plot and intrigue, Lieutenant ; 
bravely laid, i' faith ! 

Flea. Why, then, esperanza, Flea-Flint. 

Fer. What work we'll make ! 



160 THE OLD TROOP. 

Enter Eagoou and Jus Landlady. 

Lieut. Here comes the poor rogue and his land- 
lady ! He little thinks of our tragical design against 
him. I'll step aside and see what work he'll make. 

[Exeunt. 

Bag. Come, landlady, bring me my pistole ! me 
must march. 

Land. Ay, sir, I'll fetch it you ; 'tis safe enough* 

[Exit. 

Rag. Begar, me have steal my pistole ! Me vill 
make her believe she vill be hang, and den she vill 
endure plundering de betra. But, pox take her ! 
me have search, and she have noting to plundra. 

Enter Landlady. 

Land. Lord ! what shall I do? Monsieur, 
your pistol's gone ! 

Mag. Ha ! 

Land. It is gone— it is stolen ! 

Mag. Ha ! you have carry my pistole to de 
enemy, you dam whore ! Begar, you sail hang tre 
pair of stair higher den Haman. 

Land. Truly, I know not what's become on 't. I 
hope you have it yourself. 

Bag. Oh, you dam whore, me vill plundra your 
house for slander a moy. 

Land. Good sir, I have nothing worth plunder- 
ing but a great cheese. 

Bag. Give me your sheese, you devil, you ! 

Land. Here it is, sir, and all I have in the world. 

Bag. Pox take you ! give me one silling for my 
sheese ! 

Land. With all my heart. Truly it's all the 
money I have ! 

Bag. Now give me my sheese agen, you dam 



THE OLD TROOP. 161 

whore ! Yat sail me do wid dis sheese ? — it vill not 
go into my kitchin sleeve. Begar, for one silling 
more you sail have the sheese indeed ! 

Land. You'll plunder it again ! 

Rag. Begar, it go agen my conscience to take your 
sheese, because it vill no go in my kitchin sleeve ! 

Land. I have not a penny to save my life ! 

Rag. Begar, me sell it to your neighbour 1 

Enter Neighbour. 

Yat vill you give me for my sheese % 

Land. It's my cheese ! 

Rag. Begar, she lie ; me plunder it very fair from 
her. 

Neigh. Then I hope I may buy plundered goods 
as well as other people. What's your price % 

Rag. Begar, dog sheap — one silling ! 

Neigh. There's your money. 

Land. Will you offer to buy my cheese 1 

Neigh. 'Tis my cheese. 

Land. I'll try that. [Fight and exeunt. 

Rag. Begar, fight till de devil part you ! 

Enter Lieutenant and all the Troopers. 

Oh, Monsieur Lieutenant ! 

Lieut. What dost with that cheese % 

Rag. My landlady love me vera dear, and she 
give me dis sheese as a token to wear for her sake. 

Lieut. Eaggou, you must needs go make the 
quarters for the troop. 

Rag. Wid all min heart ! But, Lieutenant, dere 
be a favour for you. [Gives him a knot of ribbon. 

Lieut. But what is the meaning of this 1 

Rag. Begar, it be for my honer ; me have lay out 
all my tre pone in ribbon, and give all de troop my 
favour to wear in de hat. 



162 THE OLD TROOP. 

Lieut What ! and is all thy three pound gone 
in ribbon, and bought never a shirt] 'Tis very- 
fine. 

Rag. Begar, and so it be very fine. As me tell 
you before, who de devil see my shart 1 All de 
varle see Monsieur Eaggou in de hat ; every man 
vill admire, and ask, Who gave all that favour to 
de troop 1 den dey cry, Monsieur Eaggou, de 
French cook. Begar, dat sail be more honer for 
me den ever you sail get by your shart ! 

Lieut. Thou art a right Frenchman. My horse 
there, groom ! Let's march away. [Exeunt. 



Act hi. — Scene i. 
Enter Flea-Flint, Ferket-Fakm, and Burndorp. 

Flea. Is not this like him as can be % 

Burn. 'Tis like enough to delude the people 
with. 

Flea. I'll rant and tear the ground, boys. I will 
so plundra all de dam bumpkin dog ! 

Per. That will pass ; that's his word ; 'tis like 
him. 

Flea. Be you pretty modest, sirs, and let me 
play the devil among 'em. I will so terrify 'em 
with French gibberish, that you shall appear no- 
body amongst 'em. 

Bum. Good ! for, the more active and terrible 
thou art, they will the more remember thee when 
they come to complain, and so we shall be sure to 
escape. 

Flea. Come away, sirs ; we must be quick, and 
ride hard for 't. [Exeunt. 



THE OLD TROOP. 163 

Enter Raggott, like Flea-Flint. 

Bag. Begar, me have maka myself like Flea-Flint, 
and me vill burn one two town as me go to make 
a de quarter ; and me vill speak English, and me 
vill call myself Flea-Flint. Let me see. Come, where 
is this constable % where are all these damn'd dery 
damn'd rogues and whores? I'll slay your very 
souls, you beastly bawds \ Begar, all dat be very 
good English, and it be very much like Monsieur 
Flea-Flint; and begar, me hope he vill be taken and 
hang for dat, for begar me vill plundra de devel if 
me catch him ! [Exit. 

Enter Cornet and Biddy. 

Cor. Come; let me see, Biddy, how finely you'll 
court your mistress, now. 

Bid. 1 can court her as all men court women. 
You shall lend me two or three hundred oaths, 
your dissembling tongue, and your false heart, and 
then I cannot miss the right way of wooing her. 

Cor. This comes very near scolding, Biddy. 

[Takes her by the chin. 

Bid. You make me forget myself. Look you, 
now, would any honest man take a maid so kindly 
by the chin, and yet not mean to marry her 1 

Got. Thou little fool, at that rate every man i' 
th' kingdom would have ten thousand wives. If 
you'll part with your maidenhead, have at you, 
Biddy. Come, come, you loving worm; I know I 
shall have it at last. 

Bid. Nay, o' my conscience, I believe thee ; yet 
I have held fast hitherto. 

Cor. I am glad to hear that, i' faith ! 

Bid. But I find I must look no more on those 
eyes ; if I do, i' faith, I shall flutter so long about 



164 THE OLD TROOP. 

the candle that I shall singe my virgin wings at 
last. I will therefore now conclude that I am a 
man, and must go court my mistress. 

Enter Lieutenant and Dol. 

Cor. Here's the Lieutenant and Dol; now behave 
yourself like a man. 

Bid. Could you show me how to behave myself 
like an honest man 3 That's out of your way, I 
doubt. 

Dol. Still better and better ! This confirms me. 

Bid. Well, give me thy hand. I'm resolv'd to be 
very virtuous and very merry, and never think 
more of thee. 

Cor. Well, Mrs. Dol, here's one has consented in 
part to marry you. 

Dol. Pretty creature ! 

Bid. Ugly toad ! [Aside. 

Dol. Well, and will you be content to ride before 
me lovingly a days ? 

Lieut. Ay, and behind thee, too ; ride thee all 
points o' th' compass, wench, fear not ! 

Bid. O Lord ! but is there so many ways of 
riding, Lieutenant ? 

Lieut. Hast thou liv'd to these years and not 
known that yet 1 

Cor. Well, but when will you marry ? 

Bid. Nay, by my faith, let us woo first and then 
marry, because I believe there is more pleasure in 
wooing than in the effects of it. 

Cor. Why do not you begin and court her, then? 

Bid. Nay, by my faith, let her begin first. 

Lieut. That's not the mode, for the woman to 
woo the man. 

Bid. That is if the man love the woman ; but 
that's not my case, for 'tis she loves me, not I her. 



THE OLD TROOP. 165 

Lieut. Oh, but in complaisance you must begin. 
It is not civil to put a woman to 't. 

Bid. Not I, faith. Pray, forsooth, do you begin. 

Dol. Indeed it shall be yours. 

Bid. I protest it shall be yours ; therefore begin, 
or I vow I'll break off the match. 

Dol. Nay, rather than so, I'll begin. Sweet sir, 
I am much and greatly asham'd. 

Bid. Were you ever so before, mistress 1 

Dol. Yes, truly, I have been asham'd, but it is 
so long since 

Bid. That you have forgot it, I suppose. But I 
disturb you, forsooth 1 ? 

Dol. No disturbance, sweet sir ; I want fine 
words to express my love in. I am sorry that 
the cart-wheel of fortune should drive me into the 
coach-box of your affection. 

Bid. Fortune will take it scurvily to call her 
wheel a cart-wheel; besides, coach-box and cart- 
wheel did never agree in this world yet. 

Dol. I am not able to express my love as it 
deserves ; but I have four hundred pounds in gold, 
if that will do it. 

Bid. By my faith, you express yourself very well, 
and I will woo you heartily for it. Madam, you 
have struck me with such a desperate dart from 
those fair somewhat or other that you have about 
you. Are you sure you have the gold you spoke 
of? 

Dol. Yes, my dear heart, very sure. 

Bid. Then if I do not love you above all woman- 
kind, perish me, and sink me, refuse me, rot me, 
and renounce me ! 

Cor. Hold, hold, hold ! do you call this wooing ? 

Bid. Yes, faith; I had a sister cast away with the 
very same speech, therefore do not interrupt me, 



166 THE OLD TROOP. 

for I know all mankind woos thus. And as I was 
swearing, madam, the devil take 

Lieut. Enough, enough, enough, enough ! 

Bid. But, madam, are you satisfied 1 

Dol. I am, to the full, and do believe you. 

Bid. But if you please, madam, now my hand is 
in, to accept of a hundred or two of oaths more. 

Dol. No, no, no — by no means ; I believe you 
without 'em, and I am yours. 

Bid. I have not sworn out half my alphabet yet. 

Dol. You have done sufficiently, indeed. 

Bid. Well, give me your hand, then. You are 
the first woman, certainly, that was ever gain'd 
with so little swearing. 

Cor. Thou hast wooed her and won her most 
bravely ! 

Bid. Have I? Why, then, I'm thine. But hark 
you, Lieutenant and Cornet, we will be married 
privately, and in the dark, because her face shall 
not turn my stomach. Madam, I have one ill- 
humour — I cannot abide a woman with a bare face ; 
therefore, if I could buy you a masque that would 
stick to your face and never come off, I believe I 
should love you very well. 

Dol. I'll have a masque, or what you please, my 
dear; 
Next bout, I hope, will be my turn to jeer. 

Lieut. Come ! let's in, and visit our new 
quarters. [Exeunt. 

Enter Raggotj making quarters, Constables, 
and Neighbours. 

1 Neigh. I beseech your worship do not quarter 
so many upon me ; I'm but a poor man. 

2 Neigh. Alas, poor man ! you have overcharg'd 
him. Rogue, he has more money than half the town ! 



THE OLD TROOP. 167 

Rag. You be a dam dog to betray your neigh- 
bour. Who would tink to find de devel in a 
country bumpkin % Begar, me vill make use of 
your devilry. 

1 Neigh. I pray your worship, take four horse 
from me. 

Rag. You be a dam rich dog ; begar, you sail 
have a squadron upon you if you no understand 
me. 

1 Neigh. How should I understand you 1 

Rag. You be a dam dog; begar, me vill put 
twenty horse upon your back till you understand 
a moi ! Vat vill you give me if I take all de horse 
from you 1 

1 Neigh. Indeed I'll pray for your worship. 

Rag. ho ! be dat all 1 Do you understand no- 
ting but prayer 1 Divel, you fool ! vat be prayer to 
de quarteer-master ^ But can you pray in French 1 

1 Neigh. Alas ! not I, an't please you. 

Rag. Den, begar, your English prayer will no 
save a Frenchman ; you sail have ten arse more fo 
dat. 

2 Neigh. An't please you, monsieur, I under- 
stand you. 

Rag. You sail have no arse upon you. 

3 Neigh. And I understand you very well, sir. 
Rag. Begar, you have very mush, a great deal of 

understanding ! 

3 Neigh. Here are more of our neighbours that 
understand you, sir. 

Rag. Begar, den me undestand too ! Get all your 
money togedra, and put in my pocket yourself; den 
me can swear, begar, me never take no penny of 
you, aha ! 

3 Neigh. We will do it gladly, sir, and pray for 
you too. 



168 THE OLD TROOP. 

Rag. Begar, me no care for dat. But you dam 
dog that no understan a moi sail quarteer all de 
troop ; and den look to your wife, for, begar, Flea- 
Flint vill so get your shild for you. [Exeunt. 

Enter Flea-Flint, Ferret-Farm, Burndorp, 
Lieutenant, Cornet, Raggou, and Dol. 

Burn. Lieutenant, we have done the work. 

Fer. We have burnt seven towns. 

Flea. We have rais'd fourscore pound. 

Lieut. Y' are dexterous at your trade — you have 
made quick despatch ; but peace, we'll share anon ! 

[Aside. 
Now you're welcome. Come, where's the boors o' 
th' house It We'll see what my quarters can afford. 
Where are you all % What house here, ho % 

Enter Woman and Maid. 

Worn. What want you, sir 1 

Lieut. Art thou the woman o' th' house 1 

Worn. Yes, sir ; a poor woman. 

Lieut. Art thou poor % — what a pox do I in such 
a quarter % Why, Quarter-Master Raggou, is this 
the best house in the village % 

Rag. Zoun ! hang 'em, they're very rich dog ; but 
you sail have no meat for yourself, no oat for your 
arses, but her dam husband vill feast you all wid 
pray for you. 

Lieut. Diable, you Rotterdam whore, I'll make 
you bring out your things ! Where's your cows, 
your calves, and your sheep 1 

Worn. Alas ! we have none, sir. 

Cor. Hast thou any drink, good woman ? 

Worn. No, truly, we have none. 

Flea. Nor hast thou no wine nor strong water, 
good woman ? 



THE OLD TROOP. 169 

Worn. No, indeed, we have none. 

Rag. Why, den, a pax take you, good woman ! 

Lieut. No hens, nor turkeys, nor swine, nor no- 
thing'? 

Rag. Hang her ! begar, she hide everyting when 
dey hear me come to make a de quarteer. 

Fer. Send to the market town and buy pro- 
visions, and be hang'd, or I'll set fire o' your house, 
you damn'd dery damn'd whore ! 

Rag. Zoun, dis dam coward, how he domineer 
over de bumpkin woman ! 

Woman. Alas, we have no money, sir ; — not we. 

Fer. What dost thou tremble and shake so for % 
What a pox ails thee 1 

Cor. What shall we do 1 Threat'ning will not 
serve the turn. 

Lieut. Do but second me, and I'll make 'em 
bring out all they have, I warrant you ! Do but 
talk as if we us'd to eat children. 

Fer. 'Tis enough ! 

Lieut. Why, look you, good woman ; we do be- 
lieve you are poor, so we '11 make a shift with our 
old diet. You have children i' th' town 1 

Worn. Why do you ask, sir ? 

Lieut. Only have two or three to supper. Flea- 
Flint, you have the best way of cooking children ! 

Flea. I can powder 'em to make you taste your 
liquor. I 'm never without a dried child's tongue 
or ham. 

Worn. Oh, bless me ! 

Flea. Mine 's but the ordinary way ; but Ferret- 
Farm is the man : he makes you the savouriest pie 
of a child's chaldron that ever was eat. 

Lieut. A pox ! all the world cannot cook a child 
like Monsieur Eaggou. 

Rag. Begar, me tink so ; for vat was me bred in 



170 THE OLD TROOP. 

de King of Mogul's kitchen for? Tere ve kill twenty 
shild of a day ! Take you one shild by both his 
two heels and put his head between your two leg, 
den take your great a knife and slice off all de 
buttack, so fashion ; begar, dat make a de best 
Scots collop in de varle ! 

Lieut. Ah ! he makes the best pottage of a child's 
head and purtenance ! But you must boil it with 
bacon. Woman, you must get bacon ! 

Fer. And then it must be very young. 

Lieut. Yes, yes. Good woman, it must be a fine 
squab child, of half a year old ; a man-child. Dost 
hear 1 

Worn. Lord ! yes, sir. 

Rag. Do you hear 1 Get me one she-shild, a 
littel whore-shild, and save me all de lamb-stone 
and sweetbread, and all de pig-petty-toe of de 
shild. Do you hear, you Roundhead whore ? 

Worn. Ay, sir, ay. that ever I should live to 
see such men ! [Exit. 

Lieut. I warrant you it works. If there be pro- 
vision in the country, we shall have it. 

Flea. How the whore trembled for fear ! 

Cor. We shall have all the women in the village 
about our ears. Hide-bound whores ! it 's a ques- 
tion whether they '11 part with their meat or their 
children first. 

Lieut. This foolery will be noised about the 
country, and then the odium will never be taken 
off. 

Cor. Why, what can they make on 't ? All un- 
derstanding people will know it to be mirth. 

Lieut. I know they will ; but the envious priests 
will make fine talk on 't, and make a great advan- 
tage on 't too. Though they know it to be nothing 
but mirth, they '11 preach their parishioners into a 



THE OLD TROOP. 171 

real belief of it, on purpose to make us odious. 
They '11 preach against anything. I heard a scan- 
dalous sermon of two hours long against Prince 
Eupert's dog. 

Cor. Come ! 'tis no matter what hypocrites 
preach ; let us see what the event will be 1 

[Exeunt 

Enter Women in a fright y alarmed by their 
Neighbour. 

Worn. Look to your children! If ever you 
mean to see your children alive, hide your chil- 
dren : they '11 eat your children ! 

1 Neigh. Woe is me ! what's the matter, neigh- 
bour? 

Worn. I say, hide your children. 

2 Neigh. Ah ! good neighbour, what's the 
matter 1 

Worn. Why, run away with your children ! 

3 Neigh. Why, that ever we were born ! 
What's the matter ? 

Worn. They will eat our children. 

4 Neigh. Oh, these bloody cavaliers ! How ! eat 
our children % 

Worn. They talk of boiling your children. 
All. Oh, mercy on us ! 
Worn. And roasting your children. 
All. Oh, bloody villains ! 
Worn. And baking your children. 
1 Neigh. Oh, hellish cavaliering devils ! 
Worn. There's nothing to be thought of but 
hiding your children. 

1 Neigh. I would mine were in my belly again ! 
Worn. That's not safe ; they '11 search there in 

the first place, to be sure. 

2 Neigh. I'll hide mine in the straw. 



172 THE OLD TROOP. 

Worn. And so we shall have one of 'em lay 
you down a-top of it, and smother one child whilst 
he is getting another. I say, run away with your 
children ! 

3 Neigh. Oh, bloody wretches ! I have heard 
much of their getting children, but never of their 
eating children before. 

4 Neigh. Neighbour, their getting of children 
might be borne with; but eating 'em was never 
heard of. 

Worn. They have got a cook from the Great 
Mogul on purpose to kill children ; and they talk 
of roasting their haunches, and baking the chal- 
dron, and broiling the chine. 

Maid. And making pottage of the child's head 
and purtenance. 

All. Oh, deliver our poor children ! 

Worn. Do you stand whining and crying? 
Fetch out your sheep, and your calves, your hens, 
your pigs, and your geese, and your bacon; for 
there 's no other way to save your children. 

All. Ay, with all our hearts ! 

1 Neigh. I'll bring two fat sheep. 

2 Neigh. I'll bring turkeys and hens. 

3 Neigh. I have a brave fat calf, worth eleven 
nobles ; by my troth, I had as lieve part with one 
of my children. 

Worn. Oh, you uncharitable beast ! Go fetch 
your calf. Eun, everybody, and bring your things 
to my house as fast as you can drive ! {Exeunt. 

Enter Lieutenant, Cornet, Flea-Flint, Fer- 
ret-Farm, Burndorp, and Eaggotj. 

Lieut. Meat or children to supper, for a wager, 
gentlemen % 

Cor. Meat, for a wager, if they have it. 



THE OLD TROOP. 173 

Lieut. Ay, without doubt ; for never was woman 
and children so alarmed in this world. 

Flea. When they were got together, and told 
their children would be eaten, they set up their 
throats and made a more horrid noise than a Welsh 
hubbub, or an Irish dirge. 

Enter Nurse with two children. 

Fer. How now ! what think you if we be put 
to eat children indeed? By this light, here's a 
woman with two children ! 

Lieut. We shall be crossbit with these country 
whores. What shall we do 1 

Rag. Begar, me vill help you off; you sail eat 
no shildren ! 

Nurse. By your leaves, your good worships, I 
make bold to bring you in some provisions. 

Fer. Provisions ! Where — where is thy pro- 
visions ? 

Nurse. Here, an't please you. I have brought 
you a couple of fine fleshy children. 

Cor. Was ever such a horrid whore 1 What shall 
we do? 

Nurse. Truly, gentlemen, they're as fine squab 
children — shall I turn 'em up ? They have the 
bravest brawny buttocks ! 

Lieut. No, no ! But, woman, art thou not 
troubled to part with thy children 1 

Nurse. Alas ! they are none of mine, sir ; they 
are but nurse-children. 

Bag. Dere be a dam whore for you ! 

Lieut. What a beast is this ! Whose children 
are they ] 

Nurse. A Londoner's, that owes me for a year's 
nursing. I hope they'll prove excellent meat. 
They're twins, too ! 



174 THE OLD TROOP. 

Rag. Aha ! but, begar, we never eat no twin- 
shild ; de law forbid dat. But, hark you ! have 
any woman with shild in de town 1 

Nurse. Yes, half a dozen. 

Rag. Lieutenant, it be de best meat in de varle ! 
Begar, a woman with shild is better meat den one 
hen with egg at Shrovetide. 

Enter Landlady and Women with provisions. 

Lieut How now ! what news, landlady 1 

Worn. Here is a great many poor women that 

have brought in provisions, in hope you'll spare 

their children. 

1 Neigh. We beseech your worships, spare our 
poor children, and you shall want for nothing our 
country can afford ! 

Lieut. Good woman, we are content to spare 
your children, but you must get us some strong 
drink. 

2 Neigh. Ay, ay ; we '11 get you everything 
you want. 

Lieut. Why, then, go all home, and be contented ; 
for we promise you, if we eat any children, it shall 
be the two nurse-children. 

All. Ah, preserve you all, gentlemen ! 

Rag. Take some comfort, for if we should eat 
your shildren you sail no be a loser by dat ; for 
look you, good woman, how many shildren we eat 
in a parish so many shild we are bound to get 
before we leave it. Dat is very fair. 

[Exeunt Women. 

Lieut. Why, is not this better than fasting % 

Flea. Well, and what harm is there in all this 1 

Cor. None i' th' world. Come, let's in and 
dress our supper ! 

Rag. Me will go eat at my own quarteer. It be 



THE OLD TROOP. 



175 



a brave 



tmg 



to be in office. Begar, de clowns 



worship me as if me were deir great god Bumpkin I 

[Exeunt. 



Act iv. — Scene i. 

Lieutenant, Flea-Flint, Ferret-Farm, and 
Burndorp. 



Flea, Lieutenant, here 's all our country crew 
that we plundred yesterday. 

Fer. But our comfort is they know us not, but 
cry out of a Frenchman, with two coat sleeves 
stuffed like two country bag-puddings. 

Lieut. This cunning rogue has crossbit you all. 
He has been plundering as he went to make his 
quarters, and in a buff coat too; for here is a 
dozen fellows at my quarter, and they all describe 
a rogue so like thee that I protest thou wilt 
suffer for it. Nay, the rogue called himself Flea- 
Flint too ! 

Flea. Ouns ! what shall we do, sir ? 

Lieut. Upon my word, this is no jesting business. 

Fer. 'Sheart, over-reached thus ! 

Lieut. You must e'en think of over-reaching 
him again. You must first think of stopping the 
clamour of the bumpkins ; that 's your first point 
of security. 

Flea. But, Lieutenant, how should we do 't ? 
Faith, you must try your wits, and stick to us. 

Lieut. I knew you would venture so far 'twould 
come to my turn to fetch you off at last, rogues. 

Flea. Why, sir, my man and his both shall 
swear Raggou borrowed a buff coat of them. 



176 THE OLD TROOP. 

Lieut Let him be gone first, and then you may- 
swear anything. One of you go, tell the bumpkins 
I am searching for the rogue ; the rest go with me 
to Raggou. [Exit Ferret-Farm. 

Burn. This is his quarter. 

Lieut. This 1 Knock ! It seems to be the best 
house i' th' town. [Knocks. 

Maid. Who would you speak with 1 ? [Within. 

Lieut. With Monsieur Raggou. 

Maid. Sir, he gave us strict charge to let nobody 
speak with him. 

Lieut. But I must and will speak with him. 

Maid. Indeed, sir, he charged us, upon pain of 
his displeasure, not to disturb him. 

Lieut. Pain of his displeasure ! What an im- 
pudent rogue 's this ! Show us, show us ! 

[Raggou is discovered in a taffata bed, with a 
back, breast, and head-piece on. 
How now ! — what ! in taffata curtains 1 The im- 
pudent rogue makes me laugh. You rascal, 
Raggou ! Look, in his head-piece, too ! 

Bag. Who de devel disturb mef You dam 
whore, you know vat me do to you last night ! 

Lieut. Why, what was that you did to her last 
night 1 

Bag. Begar, me lie with her at three motion, as 
de musketier shoot off his gun — make ready, pre- 
sent, and give fire. 

Lieut. 0' my word, that's good discipline ! 

Bag. Begar, she sail make ready for you, if you 
will present and give fire. 

Lieut. But how came it that I had not this good 
quarter 1 

Bag. Because me knew me should make a de 
quarter but one night ; and so, begar, me make a de 
best use of my time, as all the whole varle do too. 



THE OLD TROOP. 177 

Lieut. . But what a rogue art thou ! Why dost 
thou lie in such a bed in thy arms 1 

Bag. For two gran reason, sir. First, because 
my French louse sail go great way about before 
he come to de clean sheet ; next, because a de dam 
English flea shall not bite a my sweet French 
body. 

Lieut. Well, maid, go down \ I must speak with 
him. [Exit Maid. 

Bag. Yat you have wid me, Lieutenant 1 

Lieut. Faith, out of my love I would save thee 
from hanging. 

Bag. Hang ! For vat 1 Begar, hang me if me 
deserve, so you hang all dat deserve a de hang. 
Begar, dat is de whole troop — Lieutenant and all ! 

Lieut. Here you plunder in one shape, and there 
in another — sometimes, like Flea-Flint, in buff; 
sometimes like yourself, — that here is all the 
country come in with such horrid complaints. 
Nay, they say you ravish women too ! 

Bag. Lieutenant, begar, me never ravish but one 
old woman, and she give me five shilling for my 
pain. 

Lieut. Nay, here is worse than all that ; my Cap- 
tain has intelligence you're a dangerous man, and 
hold correspondence with the enemy. 

Bag. Me sail be hang, Lieutenant, if you tink 
so. 

Lieut. Nay, 'tis so ; I have orders to search you. 
Put that in his pocket, and pull it out again. 

[Aside, 

Bag. Ah, begar, me have no long life before 
me be hans; ! 

Burn. Oh, sir ! are you good at that 1 He was 
going to convey letters out on 's pocket. 

Bag. Begar, he lie, Lieutenant ; me have no 

M 



178 THE OLD TROOP. 

lettra ! Begar, hang a me if me can write an 
read ! De hornbook be de Hebrew to me, begar ! 

Lieut. Search him, search him. 

[Search, and pulls a letter out and an engine. 

Burn. Here's a letter, Lieutenant, and an engine, 
I think. 

Flea. What's this 1 

Lieut. Oh, you need not write and read if you 
have this. I'll be hanged if this be not the key 
of his character he writes to the enemy with. 

Bag. Dat make a de French pie, and make a 
de garniture for de dish ; dat be all ! 

Lieut. Let's see. The case is plain ; he sent 
his intelligence in characters of paste. This very 
thing will hang him. But let's read the letter. 

Bag. Begar, me have no lettra ! De devil send it 
in my pocket ! 

Lieut. (Beads) " Monsieur Eaggou, in hope that 
under this poor disguise of a French cook you 
will show a rich faith " 

Bag. Vat he mean by fait 1 Begar, me have no fait ! 

Lieut. (Beads) " And when you have delivered 
up your troop to us, the Parliament will own you 
as yourself, and give you the respects due to your 
great and honourable family." 

Bag. Devel, me have no honourable, nor family 
neider, begar ! 

Flea. The case is plain ; you are of some great 
family. 

Bag. Lieutenant, me confess me come of de 
King of France kitchin, of de honourable family 
of de Turn-spit. Begar, me tell you true, dere be 
all my family, and my honourable too. 

Bum. Oh, sir, 'tis a very cunning fellow. My 
Captain sends word he used to be conversant with 
the Roundheads, and pray with them. 



THE OLD TROOP. 179 

Bag. The devil take a me, me never pray in 
my life ! Me swear altogedra in de King of France 
kitchin ! 

Lieut, I love you so well that I'd be loth to 
hang you, monsieur ; therefore I'm content to let 
you 'scape. But be sure you be not taken. 

Bag. Begar, den hang a moi, for my arse vill 
no go very far. 

Lieut. Well, pray be gone, and say you found 
a friend. 

Bag. G-ad a bless you, Lieutenant. Yen me come 
in France, zoun, me vill so pray for you ! 

Flea. And yet you say you never prayed in 
your life. 

Bag. Begar, me tank Gad me never have occa- 
sion to pray till just now. Adieu, adieu^a 

Who send me dat dam lettra in mv pocket ? 

[Exit. 

Lieut. Well, now we must keep the bumpkins 
here till he is gone, and then give 'em orders to 
search the countries for him. 

Burn. And that will whidle them as well as 
if you had given them their money again. [Exeunt. 

Enter Governor, Captain Holdeorth, Mr. 
Tell-Troth, and Captain Turtext. 

Hold. In truth, drinking is a harmless recrea- 
tion so we proceed not to drunkenness. 

Tub. Pray, how far forth may we proceed in 
drink I for I would take no more than is fit to be 
taken with a safe conscience. 

Tell, Why, Captain Tubtext. if thy belly were 
as large as thy conscience, by that computation 
the great tun at Heidelberg would be just thy 
morning's draught. 

Tub. Here is old Torn Tell-Troth ! ha, ha, ha ! 



180 THE OLD TROOP. 

Hold. In truth, if he were not very faithful, we 
should never away with his boldness. 

Tub. Well said, Captain Holdforth ! But to the 
question : How far may we proceed in drink 1 

Gov. As far as the innocent recreation of knock- 
ing one another down with cushions come to. It 
is the exercise of our superior officers. 

Hold. I have observed, indeed, they do three 
things together : they drink, then practise pulpit 
faces 

Tell. To cheat the people with ! 

Tub. Ha, ha, ha ! In truth, you hit so home ! 

Hold. And the third is throwing of cushions. 
The practising and dissembling of holy looks is of 
great use and design. 

Tub. And drinking and throwing cushions a 
great refreshment to the body. 

Gov. As, for example. [Throws a cushion. 

Hold. Ha, ha, ha ! I have seen our grandee 
throw a cushion at the man with the great thumb, 
and say, " Colonel, wilt thou be a cobbler again 1 " 

[Throws a cushion. 

All. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Tub. Come, here 's to you, Governor ! you, Co- 
lonel Goldsmith, with a conscience as dirty as a 
blacksmith, will you sell thimbles again 1 

[Throws a cushion. 

All. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Hold. Noble Colonel, wilt thou brew ale again ? 

[Throws a cushion. 
What an everlasting cheat is reformation and false 
doctrine 1 It has raised us from cobblers to com- 
manders. 

Tub. There is no other way to raise rebellion 
but by religion. 

All. Ha, ha, ha ! 



THE OLD TROOP. 181 

Grov. I never knew the use of religion before. 

Tub. The women tickle like trouts at it. Ha, 
ha, ha ! [All laugh. 

Tell. I believe the country will find it so, for I 
hear of twenty wenches with child. 

Gov. In truth, I wonder at the witchcraft of 
it ; for, notwithstanding the people have been bit 
through the chine-bone with it, yet, for all that, be- 
fore the old wound is healed, they are ready to run 
after the lanthorn of new lights again. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Tell. AT ell, sirs, since you are in such an in- 
genious way of confessing, tell me one thing. Do 
not you wish your garrison a-fire, so you were at 
home with all the wealth you've got '] 

Tub. Thought 's free. But talk no more of that ; 
these are both treacherous rogues ; I dare not 
trust 'em. 

Tell. Well, you are merry, sirs ; but faith, be 
plain, sirs. What says my seeming saint that 
drinks by the conscience 1 Dost not wish thyself 
at home, wallowing in thy plunder 1 

Hold. You might find a better name for it. 
Hark in your ear ! we are all such treacherous 
rogues, we dare not trust one another, but we'll 
talk in private. 

Gov. But our contribution women will come in 
anon. 

Hold. Ha, ha, ha! In truth, they edify as one 
would have 'em. 

Tell. Well, now, you ought to be serious, and 
consider the enemy 's approaching. 

Tub. In truth, a good occasion to fetch in all 
the goods and chattels of the country, upon pre- 
tence of securing them, and so make conditions 
with the enemy to march away with them. I see 
we shall be rascals to the last gasp. 



182 THE OLD TROOP. 

Hold. And so we shall have provisions for a 
long siege. 

Gov. I'll make your siege short enough. 

[Exit Governor and one Captain. 

Tub. You are faithful ; they are rogues. Bead 
that, and tell me whether you will undertake or 
no. [Gives Tell-Troth a letter, and exit. 

Tell. How very good ! Is 't possible 1 This is 
a greater rogue in his own nature than the devil's 
invention can make him. He would not only be- 
tray his trust, but deliver up all the rest of the 
garrison to mercy, conditionally that he may have 
all their wealth, and safe convoy to his own house. 
I need lay no plot ; 'tis done to my hand. I love 
the King well ; yet my own ends are mingled, be- 
cause I have a mistress among 'em, and cannot 
have her but by serving the King. And I believe 
most men have their reasons for their loyalty as 
well as I ; so that, good king, wheresoe'er you see 
me, trust to yourself. Yet I will do something. 
What if I betrayed this rogue and his letter to 
the Governor, to secure myself? But then, if 
they have a mind to deliver up the garrison, 'twill 
make 'em shy of me. I find I have a hard task 
on't. 

Enter Governor. 

Gov. 0, Tell-Troth, I came to ask thee a ques- 
tion ; and what thinkst thou 1 

Tell. Troth, I know not. 

Gov. To know whether thou lov'st me truly or 
no. 

Tell If you be serious, I could be angry with 
you for raising such a doubt. To show you that 
I love you (I do not say your cause, but you), read 
there. Look you, one of your Captain Rogues 



THE OLD TROOP. 183 

gave me that letter; and the other gave me a 
whisper to the same purpose, too. 

Gov. Is 't possible ? What 's to be done with 
these villains 1 

Tell. Something must be done ; they '11 betray 
you else. 

Gov. I thank thy honesty ; I find it so. 

Tell. Shall I speak boldly 1 Serve 'em in their 
own kind. 

Gov. In troth, I had it in my head before to be- 
tray 'em, for the rogues are rich. 

Tell. Come ! let not you and I be shy of one 
another. Do it yet ! 

Gov. Art thou in earnest 1 

Tell. By my life ; and I will put you in a way, 
too. 

Gov. Let 's in, and consider how. Had we best 
secure 'em 1 

Tell. No. First command their two companies 
out, then draw 'em into several parties, and then 
with your own company disarm 'em, and so clap 
them up and their officers ; then show 'em the 
reason (this letter). When that's done, send the 
letter to the Parliament, and write how you have 
secured 'em ; which will so ingratiate you with 
them that you'll never be suspected for betray- 
ing on 't yourself. 

Gov. My worthy friend, shall I fall on my knees 
and worship thee 1 

Tell. Let 's be wise, and about our business. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter Cornet and two Troopers. 

Cor. Where have you been, sirs ] 
1 Troop. Why, we have been to take Flea- 
Flint. My captain is resolved to hang him. 



184 THE OLD TROOP. 

Cor. For what 1 

2 Troop. For plund'ring, and so forth. But 
the rogue has intelligence of it, and is gone ; but 
he is in as bad a case as Eaggou, for we must 
send hue and cry after him. [Exeunt. 

Enter Eaggou. 

Rag. Ah, jan povera de moi ! my arse can no 
carry me from de danger of de hang a de moi ; 
and yet me have spur two such great hole in his 
rib dat you may creep quite trow him. Me must 
go change mine coat and mine hat ; begar, me sail 
be known by dat ! Vat come here now 1 

Enter Frenchman with a Shoiv. 

What come 1 

French. Come ! who see my fine shite, my rare 
shite ? Who see my fine shite, my rare shite 1 

Rag. Monsieur, where you go wid your shite 1 

French. To de Bristol Fair, monsieur. 

Rag. Dis Frenchman look as if he will be hang. 
Begar, me vill put a de sheat of de hang upon 
him ! Monsieur, begar me have de very fine shite 
too, and it vill come de Bristol Fair too. It be de 
great vonder of de varle ; it be de great fat droma- 
dory. You hear of dat 1 

French. Wee, wee ; all de varle know de fat 
dromadory. 

Rag. Begar, you and me vill join partiner in de 
Fair, because you be my countryman. 

French. Ay, monsieur, and tank you too. 

Rag. We vill give out in de bill of de two 
famous Frenchman • one inventra de show of all 
trade, and de oder make a de invent of de fat dro- 
madory. 

French. Monsieur, wid all my heart ! 



THE OLD TROOP. 185 

Rag. Very good. You sail go take a de best 
house in de town. Dere be two piece, two jacoby 
for you ; get some vera good dinner. You sail 
take a my coat and de bat, and leave your show 
wid me, for my waggon will come wid my dro- 
madory presan. 

French. I bad good luck to light o' this French- 
man. [Aside. 

Rag. Begar, me have betra luck to light o' dis 
Frenchman ! So, help me wid your wastcoat — 
vera good. So, now, make all de haste in de 
varle. Adieu, adieu ! [Exit Frenchman. 

So now, begar, me be very safe ! But how de 
devil sail me show mine shite 1 Begar, me forget 
to ask vat language all de puppet in de show 
speak. Parla Francois, Monsieur Puppey ? Owieda. 
Aha ! very good ! 

Fitter Constables. 

1 Con. Sure we shall catch this fellow at last, 
for we hear of him everywhere. 

2 Con. Ay, his two sleeves stuffed, and his 
French hat edged with ribbons, will discover him. 

Rag. Diable, dere be de constable and Mr. Hue- 
Cry come to catch a me. — Who see my shite, 
my rare shite, my fine shite 1 Begar, me sail shite 
myself indeed ! 

1 Con. What a pox does he mean 1 

2 Con. He would have you see his show. 

1 Con. Come, faith, let us. You, fellow, come, 
let's see your show ! 

Rag. How sail me do now 1 Begar, me must 
show it as well as me can. 

2 Con. Sirrah, did not you see a Frenchman 
pass by 1 

Rag. Frenchman 1 Yat have he upon him ? 



186 THE OLD TROOP. 

1 Con. Why, he has a greasy coat with the 
sleeves stuffed out. 

Rag. A pox take him ! Begar, he rob me just 
now of two piece — all me have in de varle ! Dat 
make a me cry. 

2 Con. O rogue, rascal ! — alas to-day ! Give him a 
crown, churchwarden ; we are at the parish charge. 

1 Con. Come, do not cry, poor fellow; let's 
see thy shite. There 's a crown for thee ! 

Rag. A Gad bless you ! Here be de brave shite 
of de varle ! — here be de King of Spain play on de 
bagpipe to his Privy Council. Dat 's a very good 
jest. Den dere be de King of Solomon ; he give 
judgment upon de wise child. Dere is de first 
act. Now, put on your hat, and look upon all de 
lady. [Plays and 



"Jam more cum povera bla cum povera, 
Jam, jam, jam, jam tomba nette, 
Jam, jang tombe nette equbla." 

Now, here be de Queen of Swiveland. She sit in 
great majesty; her leg hang over de chair, vera 
full of temptation — make your chops watra. Vera 
good jest. Den dere be de whore of Babylon ; 
she make great love to de May-pole in de Stran. 
Second act. 

" Jam more cum povera," etc. 

[Plays and sings. 

Dere be de King of Denmarks and Norvay learning 
to juggle of de Bishop of Munsera. Dat 's a very 
good jest. Dere be de silent ministra ; he make 
a de long preach in de play-house. Dere is tre 
act ; dat is all. 

2 Con. I thought your plays had always had 
five acts % 






THE OLD TROOP. 187 

Rag. Dey be de great puppet have five act ; de 
little puppet have but tre. Vill you go catch dis 
dam dog for me, and get a my money for me agen, 
my two jacoby i Begar, me be undone if you no 
catch dis dam dog for me ! 

1 Con. We'll away. We'll have him, I war- 
rant thee ! [Exeunt. 

Rag. Begar, me be very fine sheat, if it vill hold 
out. But hold a — vat if dey catch my coat 1 Be- 
gar, den dey vill hang a my coat. But dam dog 
vill confess me have his show, den. Begar, me sail 
be hang wid mine coat. Begar, me vill put away 
mine show ! 

Enter Flea.-Flint, with Rue and Cry after him. 

Who de devil is dat 1 

Flea. A pox on 't ! I must be robbing alone, and 
without my Lieutenant's advice. I must be care- 
ful, or suffer for it. The rogues follow me with 
hue and cry ; I am not able to go farther ; I must 
change my clothes. How now — what fellow's 
this 1 'Sheart, would I could persuade him out of 
his show, and take my cloak for it ! 

Rag. Begar, would me could persuade him to 
take my show, and give me de cloak for dat ! 

Flea. Come hither, honest fellow. 

Rag. Devil, it is Flea-Flint ! Ah, me be povera 
de moy ; begar, me be half-hang already. Me vill 
no speak French, begar, den he vill know me ; me 
vill belch Dutch at him. Yaw, min heer. 

Flea. Come hither, honest man. What 's that 1 
— a show 1 

Bag. Yaw, min heer. Begar, me vill slit my 
mouth from one ear to de odra to speak good 
Dutch; and den when me speak French, begar, 






188 THE OLD TROOP. 

me vill sew it up again. Dere 's a vera good trick 
to save a my life ! 

Flea. Fellow, wilt thou sell thy show 1 

Bag. Yaw, min heer. Begar, dis Dutch make me 
vera sick. Look ! begar, every time me cry Yaw, 
min heer, dere come up a pickle herring with it. 
Yaw — look, dere it go ! 

Flea. Art thou a Dutchman 1 

Fag. Yaw, verathticke. 

Flea. Where hah you de neder lands go Weston f 

Bag. Diable, vat sail me say 1 Begar, me have 
no more Dutch ! 

Flea. Hab you de neder lands go west Lanceman ? 

Bag. Ich haben de Hoigh Dutch lander goe weston 
Lanceman. 

Flea. Nay, it may be what Dutch it will, for I 
can speak no more. 

Bag. Ick maken weel vander slapan can helder 
hought. 

Flea. But wilt thou sell thy show 1 

Bag. Yaw, yaw, ick vill van hundred gilder haben. 

Flea. That's ten pound ; that 's too much. I 
would I had it at any rate ! 

Bag. Begar, never fear ! you sail have it. 

Flea. Wilt thou take five pound 1 

Bag. Neave ick; ick maken de show myself, 
and ick maken dat better as dis, and dat's better 
as dat, and dat's better as all, begott. 

Flea. I hear 'em coming. Here's ten pound 
for thee, and I'll give thee my cloak to boot, 
and hat. 

Bag. Dere be my show and my cap. Me tank 
you, Lanceman. So, dis dam rogue never do no 
good in all his life before ; and me hope, begar, he 
vill be hang for dat ! [Exit. 

Flea. Now, what shall I do with this show, for 



THE OLD TROOP. 189 

I cannot show it 1 Why, if anybody would see it, 
I must say it 's locked up, the key is gone before 
to Bristol Fair ; that 'a all I have for 't. 

Enter Constables, looking for Flea-Flint. 

4 Con. Come, sirs, we shall have him at last. 

3 Con. Stay, sirs — what fellow's this % Who are 
you, sir? 

Flea. A poor man, master, going with my show 
to the Fair, to get a penny ; and a rogue has robbed 
me of all I have, almost ten pound J 

4 Con. damned rogue ! Had he not a gray 
cloak and hat I 

Flea. Ay (wicked villain !), the same, master. 

3 Con. It 's the same rogue we are looking for ; 
we shall have him i' th' Fair, I warrant you. Let 's 
away ! [Exeunt Constables. 

Flea. This rogue thinks himself so safe now, and 
he'll be hanged sure enough if they catch him. 

Enter the first Constables with him that had Rag- 
gou's clothes. 

1 Con. Look you, there's the notorious rogue 
with the show. Take him ! 

Flea. What would you have with me, gentle- 
men? 

French. Begar, me vill have my show from you ! 

Flea. Pox take you and your show ! A damned 
rogue that had it has robbed me of ten pound 
and my hat and cloak. 

1 Con. Come, these are both rogues ; bring 'em 
away ! 

1 Watch. Hold ! it will do us no good to have 
them hanged ; what if we plunder them, as they 
use to do us ? 

Con. 'Tis a very good notion. Do you hear? 



190 THE OLD TROOP. 

We are to ask you a question. Will you be 
hanged or be plundered 1 

Flea. I'll be hanged before I part with my 
money. 

2 Watch. Then let's hang him; we can take 
his money when he is dead. 

Con. Then do you hang him. 

Enter Bumpkin, passing over the stage. 

1 Watch. Not I ; I know not how to hang him. 

2 Watch. Troth, hang him yourself, if you'll 
have him hanged. 

Con. Dost hear, brother Bumpkin 1 ? I'll give 
thee an angel, and hang this fellow. 

[Constable calls to the Bumpkin. 
Bump. It is not worth while for one, but I'll 
take angels apiece to hang you all. 

Con. Hang you, rascal ! Come, there, fall on, 
boys, and plunder him. [Plunder Flea-Flint. 

Flea. Pray you, gentlemen, give me some money 
again to bear my charges home. 

Con. There's a crown for thee, and farewell ! 

[Exeunt all hut Bumpkin. 
Bump. Hey day ! this will prove a very wonder, 
That Bumpkin should soldier plunder. 



Act v.— Scene i. 

Enter a Joiner, Servant, and a Painter at one 
door, and Kaggou at another. 

Serv. Joiner, make haste, and set your t'other 
post up; and painter, fetch your colours, your 
pots, and pipkins, and paint this post in the mean- 
time. It must be despatched before the people are 
stirring. 



THE OLD TROOP. 191 

Paint. My things are all ready, sir, at the next 
house. We can scarce see to work yet. 

Serv. And be hanged, then ! Go, get some ale to 
clear your eyesight ; I'll warrant you'll see the 
bottom of the pot well enough without daylight. 

Join. Make what haste you can ; I'll bring my 
post as soon as you'll be ready to paint it. [Exit. 

Paint. I'd laugh at that, i' faith ! But, friend, 
what noise was this all night 1 I think the watch 
was searching for somebody. 

Serv. Ay, ay ; hark, you may hear 'em searching 
still. Why, it seems 'tis a kind of outlandish 
Frenchman that they look for ; he has a gray hat 
and a gray cloak. But come, let us mind our 
business, and make haste. [Exeunt. 

Bag. Dat be me. Dey slander a moy ; me be 
no outlandish Frenchman — begar, me be a French 
Frenchman ! Hark, dey come ! Vat sail me do % 
Begar, me vill stand for de odra post till de dam 
bumpkin be gone. A pox take 'em ! — de devil 
could not hue and cry me so close. How sail 
me do to be like a dat post 1 Hark, dey come 
now ! 

[Raggou gets upon the post, and sits in the pos- 
ture of the other post. 

Enter Constable and Watch. 

Con. Pox o' this outlandish French fellow for 
me ! — I 'm as dry as a dog. 

1 Watch. So we are all; let's go and knock 
'em up at an alehouse, and eat and drink a little. 

2 Watch. With all our hearts. 

Enter Painter. 

Honest painter, canst tell where we may have a 
little ale 1 



192 THE OLD TROOP. 

Paint. Ay, sure; two or three doors off you'll 
find 'em up, and a good fire, where you may toast 
your noses, boys. 

Con. Thou did'st not see an outlandish French- 
man this way 1 

Paint. No, I saw no Frenchman. 

[Exeunt Constables and Watch. 
Why, what a devil ! — this joiner has been here, and 
set up his post before I came. How time slips 
away at an alehouse ! 

Pag. Begar, would a good rope would slip away 
you too ! 

Paint. Now to work. [Wliistles and paints him. 

Pag. He vill paint a me ; vat sail me do ? 

[As he stoops, Eaggou throws a stone at him. 

Paint. A pox o' these roguing prentices ! Sirrah, 
I'll have you by the ears ! A company of rogues ; 
a man cannot work for you ! If you serve me 
such another trick, I'll break all your windows. 

Pag. De pox break all your neck ! 

[Throws the pipkin at him as he stoops. 

Paint. Why, you damn'd rogue, you have broke 
my head. 'Sheart, I'll complain to your master. 
Spoil' d all my colours, too ! I'll not endure it ; I'll 
be reveng'd, whatsoe'er it cost me. [Exit. 

Pag. A pox dis rogue ! — he murder mine face 
wid his dam paint. Now de coast be clear, me 
vill take a de coat of Monsieur Jack Painter and 
go ; for begar, dere be no stay in dis town for moy. 

Enter Joiner with his post. 

Hark ! dere be someting ; me must be de post 
agen. A pox on dat ! 

[Re stands up for a post again. 

Join. Why, how now ? — what a devil ! another 

post, and none of my work 1 'Sheart, do you em- 



THE OLD TROOP. 193 

ploy two men at once 1 I'll not be used thus ; I'll 
be paid for my work, and then let the devil set up 
your posts. [Exit. 

Bag. So, now, begar, me vill take de coat of de 
Jack Paintra, and de post of de Jack Joiner, den 
no man will suspect a moy. [Offers to lift the post. 
Diable, it is too much heavy for moy ; begar, me 
betra be hang den have all dis dam joiner sit upon 
me. Diable ! and vould me yere in bed wid all 
de king of France army. Begar, me yould fain see 
vat dam English bumpkin, Mr. Hue-cry, come fetch 
me from dem. [Exit. 

Enter Servant, Painter, and Joiner. 

Serr. Why, what a foolish fellow art thou to be 
so angry ! I employed no joiner but thyself. 

Jain. 'Sheart, there were two carved posts up, 
and I'm sure I Drought the third. 

Serv. Thou art mad, and so is this fool too. To 
complain of throwing stones at thee, when we 
have ne'er a prentice, nor none within six doors 
of us! 

Paint. I'm sure my pipkin's broke, and my head 
too j pray, look here ! 

Serv. Why, what's here ? Here's a broken pipkin 
indeed, but where's the three carved posts 1 

Join. There were two stood up when I came to 
the house, and I set the third down here. Ouns ! 
my post and my tools and all's gone ! 

Serv. I believe you are both drunk. 

Paint. Heart, man, I painted the post that stood 
there. 

Join. Well, and heart, man, I brought the 
t'other, an' you call it heart man \ and all's gone, 
you a 

N 



194 THE OLD TROOP. 

Serv. My masters, go look after your things, and 
make an end of your work. 

Paint. Let's go search for this fellow that stole 
our goods here. [Exeunt. 

Enter Tell-Troth and Dol. 

Tell. Oh, Dol, d'ye hear ? Put her off till your 
friend come as before you pretended, and say 
you'll marry when the garrison is delivered up. 

Dol. The Lieutenant and Cornet are very eager 
to have it despatched, that they may have the 
money I promised ; and then they are resolved to 
laugh me to death. 

Tell. Well, but you know it will be our turn to 
laugh at them, if all be right you have told me. 

Dol. Upon my life, I have been faithful in all 
points ; and I find I shall take pride in doing good 
since I have prospered so well in serving you. 

Tell. Your reward shall answer your service. I 
must to the Captain, and give him an account of 
all I undertook, which will meet his expectation. 

Dol. Let me alone to manage my undertakings. 

Enter Captain and Lieutenant. 

Tell. Here's the Captain. Be you gone, there- 
fore ; I would not be seen with you till I make 
him acquainted with everything. [Exeunt. 

Lieut. But pray, sir, why are you thus severe 
now, to banish the flint-flayers % 

Capt. The King's honour and interest is so 
abus'd with these scandalous fellows that I'm re- 
solv'd to cashier 'em. 

Enter Tell-Troth. 

Oh, friend Tell-Troth ! Look you, Lieutenant, my 
opinion seldom fails me. 



THE OLD TROOP. 195 

Tell. So you had some dispute, then, concerning 
me 1 Look you, sir, it's now in my power to do 
more than ere I hop'd for. You have a foot com- 
pany 1 

Capt. Yes; they are now marching into the 
quarter. Lieutenant, see they march fair, and do 
no wrong. [Exit Lieutenant. 

Tell. Eead that ! Upon my life there is but 
three companies, and two of 'em are disarmed 
and prisoners, officers and all. I laid no plot to 
do it. I found 'em all ready to betray one an- 
other to get the wealth ; the manner how, here- 
after. The governor has commissioned me to 
make his conditions, which must be a convoy, 
with all his wealth, to his own home. The 
country bring in their plate and goods to secure 
'em from your party, and he'll make conditions 
with you to march away with them and so cheat 
the people (precious rogues !), besides what they 
preach the women out of. 

Capt. That must not be, for the King has intelli- 
gence that they have great treasure there. 

Tell. Does he know how they came by it 1 

Capt, Yes, very well ; with the cheat of preach- 
ing; I mean tub-preaching and lectures. The 
lectures your wives read you never awed you so. 

Tell. But faith, sir, give him his conditions ! 

Capt. I'll storm it first. 

Tell. I intend not to have you keep conditions 
when you have made 'em. 

Capt. That's base ! I scorn that ; my honour is 
at stake. 

Tell. What ! for breaking articles with a rebel 1 
Had it been a fair enemy, I grant you. Suppose 
you storm it, and be beaten off 1 The King would 
give you little thanks for the punctilio of your 



196 THE OLD TEOOP. 

own private honour. Let your lieutenant do it ; 
the captain may with his honour break the con- 
ditions that his lieutenant makes. 

Capt. I may approve of that ; I would not have 
my own hand appear against me. But I am glad 
to see you thus earnest for the King. Sure you 
have some design ] 

Tell. By my troth, I have, but so small a one 
it is not worth this labour ; you shall know it, for 
you must assist me. 

Capt. With all faithfulness. 

Tell. Come, then, let's sign articles ! So, march 
and take possession. [Exeunt. 

Enter Baggou like an old woman. 

Bag. Me vill make a me nose of wax like de 
old woman, and vill go to Madame Dol and tell 
her me come from Monsieur Eaggou. Vera good ! 
And if she vill beg his pardon of de Capitain, he 
vill come and marry her, although her shild be 
born wid a shart, and back, and breast too ; for, 
begar, me find in my conscience me had betra 
marry a dam whore dan be hang. [Exit. 

Enter Tell-Troth, Captain, Lieutenant, 
Cornet, etc., with the Governor prisoner. 

Tell. Now, sir, are you satisfied in my faith ? 

Capt. I am so ; and I have found you a worthy 
person. Command me to anything. 

Tell. Then I'll make you merry till I go about 
my design. Captain Tubtext, that got the two 
sisters with child, is now in bed with them eating 
a sack posset ; and that we may both shame and 
fright 'em, there are bears i' th' town, and other 
shows that are going to Bristol Fair. Now, I'll 
speak to the bearward to muzzle a bear, and turn 






THE OLD TROOP. 197 

him loose into the room, and I'll bring you where 
you shall see the sight. 

Capt. Content, for I am a great lover of sports. 
Let not the shows go away, for I mean to celebrate 
Dol's wedding. 

Lieut. That's kindly done. You'll need no 
other sport than to see Dol rant and tear when 
she finds she has married a girl. 

Capt. But the sport will be when you and the 
Cornet receive your fifty pound a-piece you told 
me of. 

Lieut Yes, faith, we shall have it sure enough. 

Capt. Yes ; for 'tis deposited in my hands. 

Cor. Never was jade so deeply in love ; but the 
jest is, the girl has made conditions with Dol to 
put on a mask when she is marrying, for her face 
is so bad she cannot away with it. 

Capt. Give all the troop favours; let 'em de- 
spatch, and bring them in to the baiting of the 
sack posset, and let the country be summoned in ! 

[Exeunt. 

[Tubtext and his Sisters are discovered in bed 
a sack posset. 



Enter Captain, Lieutenant, Cornet, and 
Ferret-Farm, above. 

Tub. Here is this spoonful in remembrance of 
our sweet sister's precious fruit she goes with. 

[He puts a spoonful in each of their mouths. 

1 Sister. My tender and most shame-faced 
thanks be returned you. 

Tub. Now, here is to the maiden-fruits of this 
our weeping sister. Wipe your tears. If they 
were cavaliering burthens you went with, your 



198 THE OLD TROOP. 

case were mournful ; but as they are my offspring, 
repent not, for your infants, be assured, will be 
babes of grace. 

Capt. What a damn'd rogue is this ! 

1 Sister. Why, then, it seems we religious lambs 
may play with one another without sinning ] 

Capt. Was ever such blasphemous rogues and 
whores 1 I tremble to hear 'em. Let in the bear 
upon 'em ! 

1 Sister. Here is to this our sweet comforting 
man! 

2 Sister. I am overjoyed to hear that religious 
lambs may play, and yet not sin. 

[Put their spoons in his mouth. 

Enter Bear. 

Tub. What's here 1 — a bear ! Mercy upon us ! 

All. Help, help, help, help ! 

Tub. Shift for yourselves, sweet sisters. 

Capt. Now bear ! now saint ! 

Lieut. Halloo, saint ! — halloo, bear ! I'll hold 



Cor. Hundred pound of the bear ! — thou boy bear ! 

Lieut. A hundred pound of the saint ! So, now, 
take off your bear. 

Fer. By my faith, we must stave and tail him 
off for aught I see, Captain. I have been at many 
a bear-baiting, but never at a saint-bear-baiting 
before. [Exit Bear, etc. 

Capt. Now, sir, is your name Tubtext ? 

Tub. Yea! 

Capt. And do you think your two whores are 
with child with two babes of grace 1 

Tub. Yea, foul mouth ! 

Capt. What an audacious rogue is this ! And 
dost thou really believe thyself in such a degree of 



THE OLD TROOP. 199 

perfection that thou canst not sin, and so need no 
repentance 1 

Tub. Yea, sure, we are past repentance. 

Capt. Thou damn'd villain, I believe thee. 
Blasphemous rogue ! how many poor souls hast 
thou deluded ? Sirrah, it were just to make thee 
marry these two women, and then hang thee for 
having two wives ! 

Enter Ferret-Farm. 

Fer. Sir, our wedding folks are coming, and are 
so merry and so pleas'd that, if their joy continue, 
the example will make us all marry. 

Enter Biddy as bridegroom, Tell-Troth in her 
hand dressed in Dol's clothes, and Dol in other 
clothes, and Eaggou dressed like an old woman 
with a muffler. 

Look you ! here they are, pleased as you see ! 

Dol. Now stand you here till I beg your pardon 
of my Captain. 

Bid. By your leave, Captain, I have made bold 
to espouse your old handmaid, Dol. And give us 
leave to laugh, for faith my Lieutenant and Cornet 
has cheated her, Captain, for they have matched 
her to a girl. I am a very girl; and yet I have 
not wrong'd you, for I told you before I could not 
get your children. 

Tell. And we laugh to think how we have 
cheated you ; for though you cannot get my 
children, if I can get yours we shall do well 
enough. 

Bid. Lord, what's that? — that is not Dol's 
voice ! 

Dol. Y' are i' th' right ; it is not Dol's voice, nor 
Dol that has married you — keep the money, Cap- 



200 THE OLD TROOP. 

tain — but your old love, Tell-Troth. Pray have 
your money, Lieutenant, before you laugh me to 
death. 

Bid. What ! my old lover, Tell-Troth? 

Tell. Now the laugh is on our side, gentlemen. 
Come, be not troubled, for I am the same honest 
lover that e'er I was. 

Bid. Nay, I'll swear thou deserv'st me ; thou art 
a desperate lover to venture on a wench that has 
troop'd so long under such a handsome cornet. 
But he's a fool too, for if he had followed his blow 
close at one time, he had had all that I could have 
given him. 

Tell. I had spies upon you, and am well assur'd 
of your honesty. Ask Dol ! 

JDol. Yes, faith, I watched your water at every 
turn. Do you remember he would have gone 
o' th' score for your maidenhead 1 But you cried 
'twas worth ready money at any time ; but marry 
me, and then halloo dog for thy silver collar. You 
remember this 1 

Bid. Ay, to my shame I do. 

Tell. What, are you ashamed that you are 
honest 1 

Bid. No ; but I'm ashamed that I lost so much 
time, for I'm sure thou would'st ha' had me, 
honest or not honest. 

Tell. Come, be not troubled ; I pass by all. 

Bid. I love thee for thy confidence ; give me thy 
hand. By my life, I'm very honest ; but I have 
had as much ado to keep myself so as ever poor 
wench i' th' world had. 

Cor. But I hope, Biddy, you and I shall not lose 
our acquaintance 1 

Bid. If my husband will have it so, I cannot 
help it. But I hope he has more wit than ever to 



TZZZ OLD TROOP. 1 1 

let me see you again : if yon hare not, husband, in 
good fait h. at your own peril. 

Tell, m have wit enc m n : : 

7- -. Sir. iirre's :Le :;^lttt ^fnrLr-nfi: ::z_f 
C*ipt Pray, let'em come in! 

Enter Country Ggsr uara r. 

-T:.:.Tiiri. :is n:: "-*-~ :~i i_:~ •_ . :.:: '.- 7:1 
Li~r ." pr-riTri ; .i- .-.:■_". *: ~rzz ?riz:-r. .-.ni". _: ~ — v. - 



::_t:: ": 



1 '."- t t deceived indeed in them — : 

have used ns thus ! 

CapL Yon must own, gentlemen, that all the 
— r ?.'.-.'- :_:.: "s iirrr i ; : ujt1t :::::;::• :; :iif Kin; 

_ ;irL We grant it, worthy Captain, and our 
Lives :: 

CapL Although the wealth that's here be great, 
and die King's wants require it, yet, to show that 
he had rather have his subjects' hearts than money, 
he has commissioned me to return every man his 

1 GtnL Sir, tins gracious act of the King, and 
your readiness to perform it, shall turn us all faith- 
ful subjects to the extent :: our Eves and fortunes. 

Capi. Xow. vou deserve his mercv. 

Ld. Sir, will you grant me a request ? Poor 
r!:-i'i\": ii.vs jri: ~f —::::. i: I :,m ":e_ ins r.\r iri. 
of you, he Tl marry me. 



202 THE OLD TROOP. 

Capt. Dol, you have been instrumental to our 
friend Tell-Troth ; I must grant you anything. 

Dol. Then pray, sir, let's make a little sport 
with him. Who do you think that old woman is 1 

Capt I know not. 

Dol. 'Tis Kaggou himself. Pray, fright him a 
little before you seal his pardon. 

Capt. What a devil has he done to his face ] 

Dol. I know not. I believe he has clapt wax 
upon 't. 

Capt. Now, good woman, what would'st thou 
have % 

Rag. Me come in de crowd, in hope to see a 
soldier hang. It would be great satisfaction to de 
country, truly. 

Capt. Well, good woman, where dost thou 
dwell? 

Rag. Begar, me have no dwell ; vat sail me say 
to him 1 — I live at Bristol town's end, an't please 
your worship. 

Capt. But, woman, if thou would'st tell me 
where to find a plundering Frenchman called 
Raggou, the country should hang him with all my 
heart; for that's a notorious rogue, and he shall 
be hanged if he live above ground ! 

Rag. Begar, he serve a me vera well to hang 
me ! Vat a devil make a me come here 1 Dis be 
my vit ! A pox on mine French vit ! [Aside. 

Capt. Woman, find out that rascal for me. Here 
is ten shillings in earnest ; and when thou takest 
him I '11 make it ten pound. 

t Rag. But will your worship secure me that I 
shall have no harm if I find him 1 

Capt. Ay, upon my honour, before all this com- 
pany, thou shalt have no harm. 

Rag. Bear witness, gentlemen. Now give me ten 



THE OLD TROOP. 203 

pound, for, begar, me be de man ; me be Monsieur 
Eaggou ! 

All. How ! Monsieur Eaggou ! 

Rag. Wie, mafoy, ha, ha ! Me have sheat a my 
capitain of ten pound, and save a my life too ! 
Dere be de French vit ! Begar, me honour my vit 
very much for dat ! 

Ca/pt. Call the Marshal. Take him, and hang 
him upon the next tree. 

Rag. Hang a moy 1 Did not you before vitness 
engage your honour dat me sail have no harm 1 
Begar, you vill do me great deal wrong if you hang 
me now ! 

Capt. I promised, indeed, that the old woman 
should have no harm ; but Eaggou shall certainly 
be hanged. 

Rag. Aha ! dere be a dam English trick vill 
hang a Frenchman ! But hold, hold ! if you hang 
Eaggou, how can you save de old woman 1 Dere be 
law case for you ! Let me have fair play for my life. 

Capt. Take the old woman's garments and lay 
them up safe, and then they have no harm ; then 
my honour is clear, and here is Eaggou fairly to 
be hanged. 

Marsh. Come, come away ! 'Tis a plain case ; 
you must hang for 't. 

Dol. Why were you such a fool as to come 
hither 1 

Rag. For love of you, you dam whore, you ! 

Dol. "Why would you betray yourself for ten 
pound 1 

Rag. Dat be my cunning. De hangman sail 
have de ten pound because he sail no hurt a me 
when he hang me ! But, Capitain, begar you can 
no hang me in justice ; for de old woman is Eag- 
gou, and Eaggou is de old woman, and de devil 



204 THE OLD TROOP. 

can no part us. So, if you hang Raggou, you hang 
de old woman, and you hang your own honour too, 
begar ! 

Capt. Well, sir, you have pleaded so well for 
yourself, that, conditionally you will marry Dol, 
I'll pardon you. 

Bag. If you tink it better to marry den to be 
hang, Capitain, me leave all to your judgment. 

Capt. Why, then, marry her. 

Bag. But who sail keep de shild ] 

Capt. The troop shall keep it. 

Bag. Why may not de troop as veil marry her, 
and me vill make one 1 Dat 's very fair, me tinks. 

Capt. Nay, you may be hang'd yet if you will. 
[He takes the woman in one hand, and the 
halter in the other. 

Bag. Let a me see. Here be whore, and here 
be halter — vera fine shoice, begar ! Me can no 
tell which to shuse ; but me vill e'en stan to mine 
fortune, and cross and pile for it. 

Capt. By my troth, it shall be so ! And take your 
choice — cross or pile 1 

Lieut. Why, cross he shall 'be hanged, and pile 
he shall be married. 

Bag. No, begar ! It shall be cross if me be 
married, and pile if me be hang. 

Lieut. Now it 's an even lay whether this farce 
be a comedy or a tragedy. 

Cor. Come, gentlemen ; whore or halter for a 
wager 1 

Lieut. Whore, for a wager ! 

Car. Halter, for a wager ! 

Bag. Hold, hold ! Vat if it be nedra cross nor 
pile] 

Capt. If it be neither cross nor pile, thou shalt 
neither be married nor be hanged, upon my honour. 



THE OLD TROOP. 205 

Come, here is your fortune for you. I' faith, 'tis 
cross ! Thou art to be married. 

Rag. Den dere be your halter again, and me 
tank you. 

Capt. Come, take your beloved wife, and strike 
a match. 

Rag. Den let her take me, and de devil in hell 
give her good of me ! 

Capt. Then you have my pardon, and all is well. 

Enter Ferret-Farm. 

Fer. Sir, here are two of Queen Elizabeth's tilters, 
going to Bristol Fair, desire to dance before you. 
Capt. With all my heart. Call 'em in ! 

A dance of two hobby-horses in armour, and a jig. 

You have done well. Where 's my man 1 Give 
'em half a piece. You have done prettily indeed. 
Lieutenant, cashier the flint-flayers. As for these 
hypocrites, I '11 keep them prisoners till the King 
dispose of 'em, which will be but too mercifully, 
I 'm sure. 

Cor. I suppose, Governor, the Parliament will 
reward you with some Bishops' lands for being so 
honourably pulled by the ears out of your gar- 
rison? 

Capt. Come, upbraid 'em not ; I hate that. To- 
morrow, sirs, summon in the country, and every 
man shall have his right. 

All. God bless the King, and all his good 
soldiers ! 

Capt. You see, Lieutenant, how with good usage 
the people return to their loyalty. I know you 
are a brave fellow ; but you have been to blame in 
the country, and that dis-serves your Prince more 
than your courage can recompense. 






206 THE OLD TROOP. 

Lieut. Sir, you shall never have occasion to say 
this again. 

Capt. I believe you ; and I wish that the great 
timber, the pieces of state, that lie betwixt the 
King and subjects — 

I wish that they would take a hint from hence, 
To keep the people's hearts close to their Prince ! 

[Exeunt omnes. 



EPILOGUE. 

Prologues and epilogues should something say, 

In order to the excusing of a play; 

But things to the purpose being laid aside, 

We shoot at random at least six bows wide, — 

Speaking of this or that, of sea or land, 

Of any matter but the thing in hand. 

If men with such faults poets do commence, 

I may put in with my impertinence. 

And though my dull Muse cannot make y' a feast, 

I'd fain be thought a poet at the least. 

I find I am one ; I can prove it plain, 

Both by my empty purse and shallow brain. 

I've other symptoms to confirm it too ; 

I've great and self-conceit of all I do. 

I have my little cullies, too, i' th' town, 

Both to admire my works and lend a crown. 

My poet's day I mortgage to some citt, 

At least six months before my play is writ ; 

And on that day away your poet runs, 

Knowing full well in shoals come all his duns. 

If these things make me not a perfect poet, 

He that has better title let him show it. 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 






Sir Hercules Buffoon ; or the Poetical Squire. A Comedy. 
As it was acted at the Duke's Theatre. Written by John 
Lacy, Com. London : Printed for Jo. Hindmarsh, Book- 
seller to His Boyal Highness, at the Black Bull in Cornhill. 

1684. 



Langbaine says: "This play was brought upon the stage, 
and publisht after the author's decease. The Prologue 
was writ by Mr. Durfey, the Epilogue by Jo. Heyns the 
comedian, and both spoken by the latter. I know not how 
this play succeeded in the theatre ; but I am confident had 
the author been alive to have grac'd it with his action, it 
could not have fail'd of applause. This Mr. Durfey has 
observed in the beginning of his Prologue : — 

" ' Ye scribbling fops ! — Cry mercy, if I wrong ye, 

But, without doubt, there must be some among ye ; — 

Know that f am'd Lacy, ornament o' th' stage, 

That standard of true comedy in our age, 

Wrote this new play : 

And if it takes not, all that we can say on't 

Is, we've his fiddle, not his hands to play on't.' " 

Geneste remarks : " This is a posthumous comedy by Lacy. 
It was acted at Dorset Garden." He speaks disparagingly 
of the play, and ends with " Lacy's friends should have 
buried his fiddle with him." 

Jo. Haines or Hayns, who spoke the Prologue, and who 
wrote and spoke the Epilogue, was an actor in great repute. 
His life was a roving, and consequently a varied one, and he 
constantly aimed, but very frequently fell far short of his 
mark, at carrying out the comedian, or rather buffoon, off the 
stage as well as on it. An account of him will be found in 
the prefatory memoir to Tom Killigrew's Dramatic Works 
in the present series ; but as more immediately in connection 
with the author of the present volume, it may be well to 
notice the following incident here. On the dissolution of 
the play-house in Hatton Garden (1672), Hayns obtained an 
engagement at Drury Lane, "at which time the Rehearsal, 
writ by His Grace the Duke of Buckingham, was to be acted. 
The famous Lacy, whose part was that of Bays, unseason- 
ably falls sick 'of the gout, and consequently is incapable of 
appearing on the theatre. Hayns is looked upon as the fittest 
person to supply the place of the distemper'd, his Grace* 
himself being pleased to instruct him in the nature of the 
part, and Mr. Lacy, by his Grace's command, took no small 



212 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 

pains in teaching it him ; nor did Lacy gain less reputation 
by this his suffragan and schollar than if he had acted it 
himself. So well did Hayns perform it, that the Earl of 
Rjochester], Lord B[rouncker ?], Sir Charles S[edley], and 
several of the most ingenious men, ever after held him 
in great esteem, which increased more and more with his 
conversation."* 

The dialogue of the present comedy is indued with no 
inconsiderable amount of wit, and the characters are well 
drawn — more especially those of the hero, and of the un- 
principled Sir Marmaduke Seldin and his daughters twain. 

* Life of the late famous Comedian, Jo. Hayns. Lond. 1701. 8vo. 



PROLOGUE. 

Written by Thomas Durfey, Gent. Spoken by J. 
Haynes, Com. 

Ye scribbling fops ! — Cry mercy, if I wrong ye, 
But, without doubt, there must be some among 

ye;— 

Know that famed Lacy, ornament o' the stage, 

That standard of true comedy in our age, 

Wrote this new play ; 

And if it takes not, all that we can say on 't 

Is, we have his fiddle, not his hands to play on 't. 

Against our interest he, to do you right, 

Your foes the poets has abused to-night, 

And made us like rude birds our nest besh — te. 

We know, 

If you would write us plays, they'd lose their 

ends, 
Kind parties still would make your pains amends ; 
For there's no fop but has a world of friends, 
Who will like city whigs help one another, 
And every noisy fool cry up his brother. 
Xo more, then, rack for prologue or for song ; 
Such trifles to dull quality belong. 
Xor lampoon ladies that your virtues trust, 
That bask in the hot Mall's pulvillio dust ; 
Whose low-hung fringes, with attractive arts, 
Sweep heaps of straws 'mongst crowds of lovers' 

hearts. 






214 PROLOGUE. 

Subjects like these will never get you fame; 
Nor can you write, if this be all your aim, 
More than a rogue can sing that sets a psalm. 
But if, like wits, you would the town oblige, 
Write a good comedy on some famed siege, 
But not in rhyme ; and if to please you mean, 
Let Luxemburg be taken the first scene. 
Yet, now I think on 't, choose another stoiy ; 
Some sparks that late went o'er to hunt for glory 
Have spoiled that jest, and ta'en the town before 

ye. 

No wonder, too, for who could stand their rage, 
Since they with Coningsmark broadswords engage 1 
I fancy you'll turn butchers the next age ; 
For these new weapons look, that guard your lives, 
Like bloody cousins-german to their knives. 
I'll put a question t' ye, Pray does the writer, 
As times go, get most credit, or the fighter 1 
Wit is applauded when with fancy dressed ; 
But to be knocked o' th' head's a cursed jest, — 
A fate in winch your forward fool miscarries. 
No, 'tis much better to lie sick at Paris, 
Where we can write what the French king intends, 
And storm a town in letters to our friends. 
Another inconvenience we must own ; 
There's many a fool is by a bullet known, 
That once passed for a wit of high renown. 
The proof of sense lies hid in safety here, 
But when the skull is broke the brains appear. 
Ah, sirs, if you to the rough wars should follow, 
How many pates, like mine, would be found 

hollow 1 
Faith, then, take my advice, stick to Apollo ; 
Write, and be studious in dramatic rules ; 
For should our poets sound your shallow skulls, 
You were undone for wits, and we for fools. 



THE ACTORS' NAMES. 

bowmIn,' : : : : :} Tm «"■*■** 

AlMWELL. 

Lord Arminger. 

Sir Marmaduke Seldin, Uncle and guardian to 

the two heiresses. 
Sir Hercules Buffoon, A lover of wit and lymg. 
Alderman Buffoon, . His uncle. 
Squire Buffoon, . . Son to Sir Hercules. 

OVERWISE. 

A Judge, a Clerk, a French Tailor, and Women. 

Mariana, Eldest daughter to Sir 

Marmaduke. 

Fidelia, Youngest daughter to Sir 

Marmaduke. 

Belmaria, rrl . 7 • 

Innocentia, .... The two hetresses. 

Lydia, A servant to Mariana. 

A French Waiting Woman. 

A Seaman, Lover of Lydia. 

Servants, Constable, Waiters, and Footboy. 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 



Act i. — Scene i. 
Enter Laton, Bowman, and Aimwell. 

La. Dear Bowman, well met ! Aimwell, thy 
servant ! 

Bow. Oh, Mr. Laton, I was told you were in a 
gay humour last night, — good company, and very 
witty. 

La. An easy thing for any man to be witty, or 
a wit at my rate : for we that make the greatest 
bustle, the loudest noise, and are rudest to the 
women, are called wits. 

Bow. Then you conclude rudeness and ill-man- 
ners to be the ingredients of wit % I see thou 
understand'st some wit. 

La. Yes, the wit of this age I do \ for to be 
witty now is to be more troublesome in a play- 
house than a butcher at a bear garden. That's wit 
to tear women's clothes and linen off in the house ; 
that's wit to see plays for nothing, — one act in the 
pit, another in a box, and a third in the gallery, — 
that's wit. And lastly, to cheat your hackney- 
coachman, link-boy, and your whore, and give 'em 
nothing — oh, that's mighty wit ! 

Aim. Hang 'em, those are sherks, not wits ! 



218 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

La. They go for wits, I assure you, sir. When 
a poor coachman has driven me all day, and I not 
knowing how to pay him, I have bid him drive to 
such a place, and there I tell him he must wait 
till I have supped. Under that pretence I slip out 
at a back door, and there, your coachman's paid ! 

Aim. This is a very ungentleman-like wit, I 
assure you. 

La. Take heed what you say, for I always do it 
when I am drunk. 

Bow. Ay, and when you are sober too, I doubt. 

La. Faith, when I want money ! but now they 
all know me so well, that when I call a coach they 
drive away from me as the devil were i' th' wheels. 

Aim. If thou call'st this wit, prithee be witty 
no more. But, waiving all this, what news ? 

Bow. All the discourse o' th' town is of the two 
great heiresses of the city — three hundred thousand 
pounds betwixt two sisters ! 

Aim. 'Tis almost incredible that a merchant in 
his lifetime should raise so vast an estate. 

Bow. 'Tis no wonder. Several aldermen have 
left greater sums, whose sons to this hour wallow 
in wealth, and honour too. 

La. Has their father left them orphans to the 
city? 

Bow. No ; but he has fetched his elder brother 
out of prison, and made him their guardian. 

La. If he be poor, they will as certainly be 
bought and sold as soap and hops are at Sturbridge 
Fair. 

Bow. Maybe not, for he's of great education ; 
and, though he be a man of parts and wisdom, yet 
his pride would never suffer his high spirit to 
stoop to his low fortune, but still spent on till he 
was clapped in prison. 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 21 9 

Aim. 'Tis strange his brother should trust him 
in that low condition. 

Bow. 'Tis so ; but to encourage him to be just, 
he has left him a thousand pounds a year for his 
life. 

La. For all that, they that bid most shall have 
'em. 

Bow. He has two daughters of his own, indeed. 
What his love to them may tempt him to I know 
not ; but this men say of him, — he is the devil in 
his anger, and in his temper the most airy, jocose, 
and civil gentleman in the world. 

Aim. So much for him, now for ourselves. How 
design ye the day] 

La. My business is to visit the famous Norfolk 
knight, Sir Hercules Buffoon. They say he is come 
to town. 

Bow. I am glad to hear it, for he is a man of 
great divertisement. 

La. To most men he is a pleasant creature. 
His ambition is to be a wit, but he wants materials. 
All the tools he has towards it is lying ; and that 
he does so well, that 'tis hard to know when he 
lies and when he does not. 

Aim. I have business with him ; let us all go. 

Bow. Faith, let us call on my Lord Arminger, 
for he loves such divertisement. 

La. With all my soul, for I value him above all 
mankind. 

Aim. He deserves it, sir, for he has all points of 
honour in him to perfection. 

Bow. I am not the least of his admirers, and so 
let's go wait upon him. [Exeunt. 



220 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

Enter Sir Marmaduke Seldin, Mariana and 
Fidelia, his daughters. 

Sel. Fortune, Mariana, has bailed me out of the 
jaws of prison, and made me guardian to my 
brother's daughters. Three hundred thousand 
pounds they have, which shall lodge you both in 
the arms of honour. But you must follow my in- 
structions, and subtlely act your parts in my design. 

Mar. So your design be just, sir. 

Sel. Just ! Dare you question the actions of 
your father 1 Does your conscience scruple to be 
great, Madam Precision 1 

Mar. No, sir, if that greatness be fairly pur- 
chased ; but where have we fortunes to expect 
such blessings 1 

Sel. Is not three hundred thousand pounds 
enough to invite the best of subjects to your bed, 
madam 1 

Mar. Bless me ! that's your brother's money, 
left for his own dear children. I hope, then, you'll 
not betray your trust, and strip yourself of that 
honest fame you have ever lived in 1 

Sel. Who would not be a knave, a damned one, 
rather than a beggar ] Who can withstand this 
great temptation ? The fools, the wise, the learned, 
nor the religious, have power to resist such a 
blessed occasion; why, then, /should I be styled, 
That honest fool] No! 

Fid. Sister, can you forget that our wants made 
our landlady attempt our virtues, saying she would 
help us to a kind gentleman that would pay our 
rent for us, if we would be kind to him again 1 

Sel. A bawd, by my life ! Oh, damn her ! But 
landladies are licensed bawds ; for paying scot and 
lot they have vestry commissions to corrupt the 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 221 

daughters of each parish. But say, Mariana, re- 
solve you to obey 1 

Mar. Sir, on my knees, I beg I may retire from 
the mischiefs I foresee. Your honour and my 
cousins' ruin are at stake, and must be lost. I'll 
beg some heavenly guide to direct me where virtue 
dwells. 

Sel. That's where no mankind inhabits. Virtue 
is a meagre, starved old woman, that lives in a 
cellar on the alms of a parish; and that's the 
best preferment virtue ever purchased. 

Fid, And will you be one of those virtuous old 
women, sister? 

Mar. Yes, and from my heart I wish you were 
so too. 

Fid. Thank you, sister; but I hope 'tis time 
enough to think of virtue when one's teeth are 
out. To be a virtuous young woman and a vir- 
tuous old woman too is too much. I think 'tis 
fair, father, for a young woman to resolve to be 
virtuous when she's old. 

Mar. Would you not be virtuous whilst you're 
young, sister 1 

Fid. Yes, dear sister; but one would not make 
it their business. If it come, 'tis welcome ; if not, 
by my troth, I'll not break my heart about it. 

Sel. Thou art my own child, by heaven ! For 
thee, Mariana, though thou art the treasure of my 
heart, I'll tear thee from it, for it must be torn, 
thou art so firmly rooted ; but henceforth I'll hate 
thee for thy disobedience. Therefore, be gone ! 

Mar. 'Tis the only thing my soul desires ; for I 
had rather be the offspring of a monster than the 
child of him who means such horrid wrongs to 
those that trust them. 

Sel. 'Sdeath, her saucy zeal has made her impu- 



222 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

dent ! You fanatic devil, dare you talk to me 
thus and not shake and tremble % Has virtue be- 
reft thee of modesty and manners 1 A curse upon 
the errors of the age, when children grow precisely 
obstinate ! The damned ignorant call that virtue. 

Fid. Prithee consider, sister, virtue cannot main- 
tain thee ; and when once 'tis known a hand- 
some woman is in want, then, as the poet worthily 
says, the powerful guinea cannot be withstood. 
Pray you, sir, let me but have her one hour, I'll 
make her sensible what destruction virtue brings 
to womankind. But, pray you, tell her how great 
she shall be ; I fancy an honourable title may pre- 
vail with a tender conscience. 

Sel. She shall be sure of the highest, or, if sub- 
jects can' arrive at greater dignities, we will still 
fly higher. 

Fid. But hark you, father, what shall I be all 
this while 1 This tempting honour has kindled 
such a fire in me that I'm ready to break out into 
dignities, and cannot be quenched till I'm refined 
and purified fit for empire. There's noble pride 
for you, father ! 

Sel. My own spirit dictates to thine, and makes 
our hearts strike time and thought together. 

Fid. Sister, look here. Farewell conscience ! for 
greatness' sake I'd make no scruple to poison my 
very father. 

Sel. How ! how ? 

Fid. If you stood betwixt me and honour, 
father. 

Sel. Oh, my genius ! my own dear genius ! 

Mw. Was ever thing so very young so very 
wicked 1 ? Thou should'st ha' ta'en thy leave of 
heaven fairly, and not suffered the society of devils 
to have entered thee so soon. 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 223 

Fid. Alack, father, she'll preach anon ! I dare 
swear a great pew in a fanatic church is her non 
ultra. She has no honourable pride in her ; she 
is not of our family. 

Mar. From my soul I wish I were not. 

Sel. That shall be granted, never doubt. The 
thing I doat on more than heaven proves my 
greatest hell. Thy virtue makes thee thy own 
angel and my devil. 

Mar. Well, I'll go where nothing of religion is 
professed, and there, perhaps, may be no wicked- 
ness ; for heathens, sure, have no sins of your mon- 
strous growth. 

Fid. I had rather be a rich and honourable 
monster than a virtuous beggar, sister. 

Sel. Is greatness, then, a monstrous sin 1 That's 
like those malicious brutes who call coaches hell- 
carts because they go afoot ; so you think wealth 
monstrous because you are a beggar. That ever 
we should bring our children up to be religious ! 
It only teaches them to rebel against their Prince 
and parents. Then Dame Nature, that cunning 
jilt, commands and orders us to doat on them, 
when they return nothing but ingratitude. Would 
nature had let that subtle knack alone, for 'tis the 
chiefest curse that mankind has, loving and pro- 
viding for our brats. Come, minion, I'll provide 
for you ; for, by the life that's lent me, if within 
this hour you comply not, I'll ease your troubled 
mind with this 

Fid. Let me, father, but have her to my cham- 
ber ; if I do not charm her to obedience, and, like 
a twig, bend and supple her fit for all your projects, 
then disown me too. 

Sel. Thy words come from thee with an angel's 
voice. 



224 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

Mar. A devil's or a peacock's rather. 

Fid. You bray like an ass, lady, and may come 
into the concert. What harmonious music would 
a peacock, a devil, and an ass make 1 The peacock 
should chaunt the treble, the ass should bray the 
tenor, and the devil should roar the bass. And to 
these add but a sow-gel der, and say they are come 
out of France, and they would pass for the best 
music in Christendom. Come, foolish sister ; come, 
angry father; I'll confute your she lay elder, never 
fear me ! [Exeunt. 

Enter Sir Hercules Buffoon and Alderman 
Buffoon at different doors. 

Aid. My worthy nephew, Sir Hercules Buffoon, 
I rejoice heartily to see you at London ! And pray 
you, sir, what news does the country afford 1 

Her. Why, all the news in the country is that 
there's no news at London. 

Aid. What ! and the Gazette bawling in the 
streets twice a week 1 

Her. Burn the Gazette ! we know what news 
there's in't before it comes out. There's my 
lady's little dog, with liver-coloured spots ; then a 
horse stolen or strayed, fourteen hands high, they 
that can bring tidings of him shall be well re- 
warded. Then there's the old stop-gap ditto ; and 
these are for ever and ever the news of the Gazette. 
I'll be better informed in the country at a thatched 
alehouse, where the gentry meet twice a week to 
communicate news. 

Aid. But prithee, nephew, tell me what news 
i' th' country 1 

Her. They say for certain that London and 
Westminster are grown so godly that in a whole 
week there's scarce a cuckold made. 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 225 

Aid. You found not that in the Gazette, I 
hope 1 

Her. A pox on the Gazette ! They have got a 
trick now to expound it, and they make as many 
false interpretations as thou makest, uncle, when 
thou expound'st a chapter to thy family. 

Aid. You are always jerking at the Scriptures, 
and profaning the silent Ministers ; those are your 
commonplaces. They say, now, you take delight 
to be thought an Atheist and a Wit, forsooth. 

Her. I confess I'd rather be thought an Atheist 
than not a Wit. 

Aid. They go together, indeed; impossible to 
part those two sins. 

Her. They are as inseparable, I confess, as 
matrimony; an Atheist and a Wit are incorporated, 
and like man and wife become one flesh. 

Aid. Or rather, grafted or inoculated into Bel- 
zebub, and so become one devil. 

Her. The truth is, they are linked together like 
sausages. 

Aid. Ay, and they will fry together like saus- 
ages one day. 

Her. In hell, thou meanest 1 They never value 
that, man, for they that believe nothing fear 
nothing. 

Aid. Then you are counted the most notorious 
liar of all Norfolk, which is a shame and dishonour 
to the family of the Buffoons. 

Her. Thou fool ! 'tis the only useful virtue be- 
longing to a great family, and I am prouder of it, 
uncle, than thou art of thy great Bible with huge 
silver clasps. 

Aid. A worthy virtue, indeed, when a liar's 
counted worse than a thief. 

Her. Y' are a rascal, uncle ; lying is one of the 
p 



226 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

liberal sciences, and is the eminent'st profession 
in the world but poetry. 

Aid. A poet, indeed, is an excellent yoke-fellow 
for a liar ; the devil could not ha' matched them 
better. 

Her. A City Presbyter and a silenced Minister 
are better matched by half. 

Aid. Thou'rt a wicked fellow ! Sure, there is 
some secret delight in being a Wit, or else men 
would never venture to be damned for't, as they 
do. 

Her. A man would venture anything to be a 
AVit, uncle, — to have men honour and admire them, 
and cry, There goes a Wit ! — That gentleman's a 
Wit! Oh, there's more glory in that than in being 
a Monarch ! 

Aid. I believe I myself am a better Wit than 
the best of them. I can repeat all Hopkins and 
SternaFs psalms by rote ; and that's more than any 
Wit in England can brag of. 

Her. Ha ! ha ! what a thing has this fool found 
out for wit ! Why, what the devil has wit to do 
with religion ? 

Aid. Nay, sir, I have got a hundred thousand 
pounds by my wit ; that's the substantial part. 
Your little flashy Wits ! their pockets are always 
as empty as their heads. Money is wit, purchasing 
is wit, planting is wit ; when they come to that, 
I'll allow 'em to be Wits, — not before, I assure you. 
But, where's your son 1 I mean to make a prentice 
of him. 

Her. I mean to make a Wit of him. 

Aid. First make a prentice of him, and then he 
is qualified for wit, or any honourable title in the 
world. I would bind him prentice because I 
would have him saved. 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 227 

Her. Saved 1 I was a prentice myself, and I do 
not find I am like to be saved, for 1 learnt all my 
lying there. The first thing my master taught me 
was never to speak truth to a customer ; and is 
that the way to be saved 1 

Aid. That is not lying, nepheAv, 'tis but the 
mystery of our professions ; and for advantage of 
trade we all hold fraud to be a little lawful. 

Enter Esquire Buffoon. 

Her. Oh, here comes your heir and mine ! — This 
is your uncle, sirrah. 

Squ. Sirrah ? Sir, if you were twenty fathers, I 
write myself Esquire. 

Aid. Well said, boy ! I commend thee. 

Squ. Are you my reverend rich uncle, Alderman 
Buffoon 1 

Aid. Yes, sir. 

Squ. I hope you'll excuse my father's rudeness 
for calling me sirrah ; really, I am ashamed of 
him, — a poor country Knight, void of manners. I 
understand, uncle, you will make me your heir 1 

Aid. If you behave yourself like a Buffoon, I'll 
make you my heir. 

Squ. Then pray you, uncle, pray to God to bless 
me. You are obliged indeed, sir, for I have not 
asked my father's blessing these seven years. 

Aid. And if good times come, I'll make you a 
Lord. 

Squ. Then I shall be the first Buffoon that ever 
was a Lord. 

Her. Not by a hundred ! There have been, there 
are, and will for ever be Lord Buffoons. We are 
an ancienter family than the La-Fools. We came 
in with William of Normandy, and the French 
Buffoons came out of the Irish Buffoons by a 



228 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

match with King Pippin ; and there the Buffoons 
are fixed, and will be to the end of the world. 

Aid. I honour thee, nephew, for thy learning, 
in deriving our pedigree in a diameter from the 
best blood of Europe. 

Squ. But, uncle, setting the house of Pippin 
aside, I must needs go see the players. 

Aid. Players ! Thou foolish, profane boy, — 
players 1 

Squ. If you be not read in the history of players, 
both men and women, 'twill call your breeding in 
question. Besides, all the Princes in the world 
allow of players ; and if the Buffoons should not, 
then where's your pedigree from the house of 
Pippin ? 

Aid. Nay, rather than call that in question, I'll 
allow of players freely. 

Squ. We admire poets, too, in the country most 
mightily, uncle. 

Aid. That's more than we do in London, I 
assure you, sir. 

Squ. I pity all those that do not, uncle. — But, 
father, which do you hold to be the most honour- 
able, your comic or heroic poet ? 

Her. Oh, your heroic, without doubt, because 
he comes nearer the romantic strain than the 
other. 

Squ. Bomantic ! What signifies the word 
romantic 1 

Her. Why, it comes from the word romance, 
and romance is the Arabic word for a swinger, and 
swinger is the Hebrew word for a liar. 

Squ. By this you prove the heroic poets to be 
liars 1 

Her. No, no, by no means ; romantically inclined, 
only. 






SIR HERCULES BUFFOON, 229 

Aid. Nephew, I admire thy parts. I'll home 
and make thy entertainment to the dignity of the 
Buffoons, for I am more than proud that I spring 
from the loins of King Pippin. 

[Exit Alderman. 

Squ. Uncle, we will most dutifully be with you 
forthwith. — I must see the players, father, for I 
have tokens to deliver to one of them from two 
country ladies. 

Her. Prithee, Ned, which of the players is 't 1 

Squ. 'Tis he that acts Drawcansir.* The ladies 
are damnably in love with him for killing whole 
armies, horse and foot. One of 'em said she would 
give a hundred pound to be with child by him of 
a young Drawcansir. 

Her. Then he must get the other lady with child 
of a young army, for the young Drawcansir to 
conquer. But prithee, Ned, who are the ladies? 
I'll warrant 'em both whipsters. 

Squ. Like enough, for one is my sister, and 
the other my mother, i' faith. 

Her. You damned rogue, to betray your mother 
and sister ! 

Squ. Betray ! if that be all, they have been be- 
trayed long since. Come away, father ! 

Her. A plaguey witty dog this. [Exeunt. 

* The extravagant language put by Dryden, in his Conquest 
of Grenada (1670), into the mouth of Almanzor, his hero, 
caused the Duke of Buckingham to ridicule that character, as 
Drawcansir, in his burlesque, the Rehearsal. Almanzor was 
originally played by Hart, one of the favoured lovers of the 
Countess of Castlemaine (Pepys, 7th April 1668) and other 
ladies of quality. It is understood that Nell Gwyn, for whom 
he entertained a passion, was elevated from the position of an 
orange-girl to that of an actress by him and Lacy. 



230 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 



Act ii.— Scene i. 

Enter Guardian. — Mariana and Fidelia 
meet him. 

Sel. Now, my Fidelia, how hast thou prospered ? 
I know thou hast vigorously pressed her to obey, 
for thou art all duty. 

Fid. Not I, indeed ! this is your dutiful daugh- 
ter, sir 1 

Sel. Is it possible 1 What charms, what fire 
didst thou use to thaw that frozen virtue in her, 
that common enemy to all honour and preferment 1 

Fid. I have made her more in love with great- 
ness than e'er she was with virtue. Come, Lady 
Convert, down o' your knees and crave pardon for 
your stiffnecked rebellion, or out you turn to your 
old tattered granum, Goody Virtue. 

Mar. Sir, I beg your pardon for all my disobedi- 
ence, and tender my duty to whatever you com- 
mand, and think it virtue in me to obey you. 

Sel. I am overcharged, and want room to enter- 
tain the joy thy dear compliance brings. But 
now to our business. You two shall pass for my 
two nieces, and, in short, enjoy their fortunes. 

Fid. Well, sir, if we must pass for these great 
fortunes, how will you dispose of the real ones 1 

Sel. They must be despatched ! Let me see, 
we'll have 'em 

Fid. Murdered. Come, out with it, father ! 

Sel. That's too harsh a word for thy tender ear, 
is it not, my jewel 1 

Mar. Indeed it startles me ; pray ye, give it a 
milder name ; the word murder is enough to 
daunt a young beginner. 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 231 

Fid. Fie, thou bast no mettle in thee. Think of 
honour ; that will fright all bugbears that awe the 
simple conscience. 

Sel. I'd, give the world to have thee steeled and 
wrought to her hard temper. 

Mar. I would not have 'em murdered, but they 
may be desired to take a journey into the other 
world. 

Sel. There can be no offence in that ; a tender 
zealot may allow of murder clad in such mild 
words. 

Fid. A pretty equivocation the devil has helped 
us to to embolden us to murder. 

Sel. Throw by your fears, or I'll throw by your 
lives. Bloody words suit best with bloody deeds, 
therefore I'll have no other phrase but murder ; 
startle that dares! 

Mar. Murder be it, then. Now I consider, 
sister, 'tis very foolish to scruple at the word when 
we so freely consent to the deed. 

Fid. Father, I must laugh a little. To tell you 
true, this cunning baggage has but dissembled 
virtue all this while, on purpose to discover your 
inclinations. 

Sel. Mine is to murder 'em, without the least 
fright or start of conscience ; but if that were 
feigned virtue thou managed'st with such saint-like 
zeal, by heaven I shall honour thee as the metro- 
politan hypocrite of all thy sex. 

Mar. And, sir, to show you how little I value 
virtue, their deaths already are contrived, and my 
faithful servant has undertaken it. 

Sel. How, how, my dear child, how ] 

Mar. Thus, sir. My good, honest maid has a 
lover to whom she is contracted, and, being a sea- 
man, has already hired a ship to spirit them away 



232 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

into the north of Norway, where they shall never 
more be seen or heard of. 

Sel. The wisest of men could not ha' thought of 
so secure a course. But when, oh when, shall this 
be done? 

Mar. Instantly ! we have already prepared our 
cousins for a journey, too. We told them you 
would send them into France for better education, 
before any suitors should be admitted. 

Sel. And all this ready done 1 Let mankind 
after this never deal in mischief. When there is a 
work the devil cannot manage, a zealous woman 
shall have the honour of it. I have prepared for 
thee, my jewel, the brave Lord Arminger, — a man 
that has no stain to blast his better parts, but has 
a crystal fame that all the world may see through. 

Fid. Then I find I must provide my own fool. 

Sel. Thou art merry still. I have already rich 
presents sent me by this Duke, that Marquis, the 
other Earl. This Duchess for her kinsman writes, 
that Countess for her brother, — will all send gifts. 
I do not receive 'em, nor they carry 'em away, for 
in that gentile manner great Ministers of State take 
bribes. 

Mar. Ay, sir, you have raised my spirits ; the 
thought of honour makes murder seem a little 
crime. 

Sel. Ay, there fix thy soul. Think on the bless- 
ings that attend on greatness; then who would 
not wade to the chin in blood 1 

Fid. To the knees, father, is deep enough, in 
conscience. 

Sel. You are not known to the world, so that 
you may pass for them securely; only the youngest, 
that came from the north, the world has got some 
hint of her country speech, which, if thou' canst 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 233 

imitate, we shall cozen the world, live in pleasure, 
and die in the bed of honour. 

Fid: No, father ; they that deal justly die in the 
bed of honour ; we that cheat and cozen can die 
but in honour's truckle-bed. 

Set. Well said, good Madam Hudibras ! Come, 
let us cheerfully despatch this murder, and that 
settles all our fortunes. 

Mar. Our hands and hearts go all together. 

Set. This is the greatest satisfaction that ever 
yet my soul received. [Exeunt. 



Scene ii. 

Enter Lord Arminger, Bowman, Aimwell, and 
Laton. 

Omnes. My Lord Arminger, your most humble 
servant ! 

Arm. I hope, gentlemen, you likewise think I 
am yours. 

La. We come to invite your lordship to the 
sight of an extraordinary new sort of fool. 

Arm. Not a finer than my Mr. Overwise, I 
hope 1 

La. Your lordship's is a more affected fool ; he 
is for impossible projects, new words, and fine 
phrases. 

Arm. Oh, he hates a common phrase as he does 
a common woman. 

Bow. Then he is very impertinent. If he sees 
you kneeling, he will advise you how to pray ; at 
dinner, how to eat; in bed, how to behave yourself. 

Arm. Those things make him a fool ; he would 
not be one else. He has one worse fault than all 



234 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

those — he will whisper you eternally, always buzz- 
ing in your ear like a Lincolnshire gnat. 

Aim. But our fool makes lying one part of his 
talent ; 'tis Sir Hercules Buffoon. 

Arm. Oh, I have heard of him; they say he has 
a magazine of confidence. 

Bow. Nay, faith, 'tis impudence, and the greatest 
that e'er came out of Norfolk. 

Aim, Sir, there are Buffoons in other countries 
besides Norfolk. 

Bow. I grant you more than that, sir ; there are 
as worthy gentry in Norfolk as are in the world, 
and yet they may have a ridiculous Buffoon 
amongst them. 

Arm, Aimwell, methinks y' are very fine ! this 
dress is meant for love or war, a mistress or cam- 
paign. Oh, here comes my whispering fool, Over- 
wise, i' faith. 

Enter Overwise. 

Over. My royal Earl ! No, Earl is too common ; 
I will call thee my Royal Count. In thy haven I 
ride safe at anchor from the surprising cogboats, 
such as carry small burthens of sense ; I mean 
those whom men vulgarly call fops. 

La. Prithee, Mr. Ovenvise, what is a fop 1 

Over. A fop 1 'Tis strange thou shouldst not 
know what a fop is, that art so great a one thyself. 
I will tell thee. A fop is the fruit of a foplin, as a 
Wit is the kernel of a witlin. 

Bow. I have heard of a foplin but never of a 
witlin before. 

Arm. He has every day some ridiculous thing 
would please the most morose creature in the 
world. 

Over. Aimwell, thou art as gay as a tulip, as 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 235 

glorious as a milk-pail on a May day. — That is all 
new, my Count. 

Arm. Thou art thyself every day new. 

Over. I am upon a project, my Royal Count, of 
obtaining a charter for the sober society of the 
professors of coffee ; and I would honour the Peers 
and gentry so far as to make 'em free of the com- 
pany. 

Arm. It must needs be a great honour to be 
free of Coffee-House Hall. 

Over. More honour than to be free of the Vir- 
tuosos'. But why, my Gallantissimos, do you not 
address to the rich heiresses ] 

Arm. I declare the guardian has courted me ; 
but none must visit 'em till some time be expired. 
The reason I know not. 

Over. My Count, why may not I address ] The 
ladies, perhaps, may love a wise man before a 
handsome man. 

La. Where shall we find him ? Then let me 
put in ! perhaps they may love a peevish fellow 
that will beat 'em, before a civil man that will 
court 'em. I have a small miss that I use bar- 
barously, and I dare swear that she loves me the 
better for it. 

Aim. My French garniture, a pox on 'em, is not 
yet arrived from Paris. 

Arm. The ladies will despise you if you have 
not all things French, for I suppose they are of the 
same air and humour that quality is subject to — 
that is, to admire a French fan before an English 
gown. 

Bow. And a French dog before an English man. 

La. The men do worse ; for they admire a French 
feather above an English Lordship, and a French 
tailor above an English father and mother. 



236 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

Arm. I must say this for the ladies,: — where there 
is one female fool to admire 'em, there are forty 
male. 

Over. Really, we are so fondly affected with the 
French that we shall in time send for Frenchmen 
to get our English children for us. 

Bow. But they say, my Lord, the youngest 
heiress, that was bred in the north, is the prettiest 
kind of creature ; everything she does or says 
becomes her. 

Arm. Yes ! and they say her northern speech 
is a great addition to her beauty, which is very 
strange ; but, being a child, it may the better 
become her. 

La. She has a Frenchwoman to wait on her, 
and she hates her mortally, and desires all people 
to help her to curse her home again. 

Over. Really they say she puts up a paper every 
Sunday to the parson in the pulpit, to desire the 
curses of the congregation against all French 
tailors and tirewomen. 

Bow. Then they say she plays at several sports, 
— as Rampscuttle, Clapperdepouch, and Come, 
mother, saw you my cock to-day 1 These sports 
declare her a sweet, innocent creature. 

Arm. But you have forgot Sir Hercules Buffoon, 
gentlemen. Pray ye, let us go in search of him. 

Aim. My lord, we shall all wait upon your 
Lordship. 

Over. I will go in search of that strange sport 
called, Come, mother, saw you. my cock to-day I so 
I take leave. 

Omnes. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! [Exeunt 



sir hercules buffoon. 237 

Scene hi. 

Enter Seldin, Seaman, and Maid. 

Sel. I understand, sir, that you have undertaken 
the disposing of my two nieces 1 

Sea. I'll set them ashore where no mankind 
inhabits, where they must be starved to death or 
torn to pieces by wild bears. 

Sel. I honour thee because thou makest no 
scruple. 

Sea. That's for children to boggle and be fearful. 
I'll give you an honest and a just account of their 
murder, sir ; and in so doing I hope I shall dis- 
charge my duty with a good conscience. 

Sel. What a sweet minister of darkness has the 
devil sent me ! 

Lyd. He is my lover, sir, my honest lover. I 
have his heart as sure as my young ladies have 
mine. We two would commit more than murder 
to make them great. 

Sel. Your worthy faith shall be rewarded. 

Sea. 'Tis enough ! Come, call our foolish sea- 
mates, we must not lose our tide. Oh, here they 
come. 

Enter Mariana, Fidelia, Innocentia, and 
Belmaria. 

Sel. Alack, my sweet and lovely nieces, why do 
ye weep 1 Such tears are too precious for so 
slight occasion ; all ladies rejoice at going into 
France. 

Inn. I had rather gea to Yorkshire than to 
France. Now, good my honey nuncle, let us not 
gea to France, but send me back to my naunt 
at York again. 



238 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 



Sel Alas, my sweet niece, 'tis for your breeding 
1 send you. Why weep you, my lovely niece 1 ? 

Bel. Something troubles me, I know not what, 
and prompts me to beseech you on my knees 
you'll give us leave to stay. 

Sel. Alack, my dear jewels, it is by advice I 
send you into France. Your fortunes are great, 
and 'tis my duty to see your education answerable. 
I should be condemned by all the world else. 

Bel. But, good uncle, why do you turn away 
our old servants, that have been with us from our 
cradles ? They would be a comfort to us. 

Sel. Becanse you shall have none but French 
about you : you'll never learn the language else. 

Inn. Marra, the devilst learn French for me. 
By my saul, ean Yorkshire word, nuncle, 's worth 
ten thousand French eans. 

Bel. Dear uncle, let us stay. We have both 
had horrid dreams last night, which waked us into 
such dreadful tremblings. No ague ever shook the 
body as those have done our fearful souls. 

Sel. You are more a child than your sister ; and 
what was your dream 1 

Bel. Why. sir, I dreamt I was set ashore by a 
seaman in a cold country, all frost and snow ; and 
I called out, methought, to the wicked wretch that 
left me there, but he like a cruel man ran from 
me ; and there I perished, without one bird or 
beast of the creation by to pity me. 

Sel. I like not this. 

Sea. [Apart to Sel.] Damn 'em, get 'em aboard '. 
and then no matter what they dream. I hate 
peevish people that will not be murdered quietly 
when 'tis their turn. Come, despatch 'em, sir! 

Sel And what was your dream, you little fearful 
fool ? 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 239 

Inn. Marry, God help me, nuncle, I dreamed 
just sike ana grizely * man as that set me down in 
frost and snow, and ran away when he had done, 
and by and by there came three hujus bears, 
nuncle ; then I cried and screamed out, and God 
wait not ean kerson saul came to help me ; then 
I said, Good sweet honey bears, do not kill me, and 
yet the hard-hearted devils worried me all to bits, 
and left not ean morsel of me alive. 

Sel. Is it possible instinct should give nature 
such hints of truths to come ? — 'Sdeath, what weep 
you for 1 ? 

Mar. To practise hypocrisy ; I may have occasion 
for't. Besides, it is a kind of compliment to weep 
with them at parting. 

Fid. Come, sir, away with 'em ! I fear they will 
work upon your good nature too, and then all our 
hopes are cut off. 

Sel. Thou wert always my comforter, but now 
my counsellor. I'll see 'em aboard presently. 
Come, my dear nieces, throw your idle dreams 
behind you. I send you to the splendid court of 
France, where all good manners and civil breeding 
grow. 

Inn. We have better manners bith' half at York, 
that have we ; and one Yorkshire jig 's worth a 
thousand French dances, that it is. 

Bel. Dear uncle, let our sweet cousins go with 
us, that they may have the same education that is 
allotted for us. 

Sel. Kot for the world ; the town would report 
I bred my children at your charge, and so conclude 
I mean them part of your fortune. 

Sea. They consider nothing. — Come, sir, the tide 
serves, and go we must. 

* Frightful, ugly. — Yorksh. 



240 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

Inn. Now, by my saul, that ill-looked beast 
frights me. All, thou's an ill-favoured grizely-like 
fellow, that is sa. 

Sel. Not one word more, I charge you, of all 
hands. I'll see you safe ashipboard, pray for you, 
and farewell ! 

Inn. E'en God's benison and mine be with you, 
cousins. My heart gives me I'st be dead, cousin ; 
and if I die, wae's me, we'st ne'er play at Clapper- 
depouch again. 

Fid. Yes, yes, dear cousin, fear nothing ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene, iv. 

Enter Lord Arminger, Bowman, Laton, Aim- 
well, and Sir Hercules. 

La. Sir Hercules Buffoon, no man more glad to 
see you ! Here is a most worthy and honourable 
Peer of the realm desires to know you. 

Her. Not as a Lord, but as a man of parts, I 
salute you. 

La. My Lord has great parts and virtues, besides 
a man of great wit. 

Her. Wit? Prithee, my Lord, let's hear a little 
of it. 

Arm. When you give me occasion for 't, you 
shall ; i' th' interim, assure yourself I have wit 
enough to honour and admire you. 

Her. Prithee, my Lord, let's honour and admire 
one another till we find a reason for 't. 

Arm. If we stay till then, we shall admire one 
another long enough. 

La. Here's another worthy person ; his name is 
Bowman, sir. 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 241 

Her. Bowman, Bowman 1 by my life I honour 
and admire you to the superlative degree. You 
must needs be a swingeing liar. 

Bow. Why so, sir % 

Her. Sir, I have a hound of your name, as 
arrant a cur as e'er came in field. When my dogs 
are hunting and at a fail, he is the first that opens ; 
but the devil a hound i' th' pack will believe him, 
for he ne'er spoke truth in 's life. So, sir, if you 
be a true Bowman 

Bow. I'm as arrant a cur as your dog Bowman 1 

Her. Despise not my dog ; for aught you know, 
you may be both of a family. 

Arm. This is an insufferable fool indeed ! 

Her. You'll not be angry, I hope ; a hound is a 
gentleman's fellow in any ground in England. 

Arm. In any hunting ground in England, I 
grant you ; but we are men of no exceptions, nor 
you, I hope. 

Bow. Therefore, good Sir Hercules, let's have a 
swingeing lie, now ! 

Her. You are a very idle fool, sir ! 

Bow. What mean you by that 1 I am no fool, sir ! 

Her. Then there's a lie for you, and that's what 
you required. 

Arm. 'Tis a kind of a witty lie, too. 

Her. 'Tis so, my lord ; I have not spoke a word 
of truth to-day. I said I honoured and admired 
thee ; that's another lie, for the devil take me if I 
either honour or admire thee — indeed I see no- 
thing in thee to admire. 

Aim, Oh, sir, Mr. Bowman is a man of most 
accomplished parts. 

Her. He's an ill-natured fellow, then, for he 
keeps 'em to himself. I believe his good parts and 
terra incognita will be found together. 
Q 



242 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

Arm. This is great wit, Knight, but very severe. 

La. Come, Sir Hercules, be good-natured ! and 
let's have a 

Her. Lie ; I know your meaning, to tell you 
truth, sir. This is none of my lying days. 

Aim. No ! Hast thou in the whole course of 
thy life any intervals of truth 1 

Her. Oh, sir, I'm an old man, and must think 
o' th' other world ; and therefore I'm allowed but 
three days a week to lie. 

Bow. Prithee, Knight, who allows thee ? 

Her. Our parson. I was forced to give him a 
bull calf to allow me them ; I'd been excommuni- 
cated else. 

La. But prithee, Knight, what dost thou do the 
other four days 1 

Bow. He looks like an ass, I believe, when he 
speaks truth. 

Her. I' faith, so I do; it is very childish, and 
therefore I hate it. However, of those days I'm 
very godly, and go to church. 

Arm. How ! to church, man % Dost thou think 
there's another world for thee 1 

Her. Yes, faith, do I — such a one as it is ; but 
those days I go to church I would not speak a lie 
for the world's wealth. 

Aim. That day thou goest to church, I dare 
swear, thou speakest truth. 

Enter Esquire Buffoon. 

Squ. You say right, gentlemen. I have been 
his son these eighteen years, and he has ne'er been 
at church since I was born. 

Her. You impudent son of a whore you ! 

Arm. Oh, fie, Sir Hercules, who is this you call 
son of a whore ? 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 243 

Her. My own son of a whore j whose should he be 1 

Arm. Nay, if he be the son of a whore, he ought 
to be thine. 

Squ. Gentlemen, I'm not ashamed to own it ; I 
am my father's own son of a whore, upon my credit ! 

Arm. Bowman, the son is a finer fool than the 
father. 

Squ. Yet my mother's virtuous enough, if it were 
not for 

Aim. What, what ? Prithee out with it ! 

Squ. Oh, sir, she will lie most shamefully ; that 
is, she would lie as a man would have her. 

Her. By my life, the boy's i' th' right ; my wife 
will lie with any man in England. 

Bow. Do you own her to be so common, sir % 

Her. No ; I mean she will tell a lie with any 
man in England. Why, the devil would not lie 
with her carnally, for she's as ugly as she's old. 
A man with all his neighing youth about him 
would not touch her with a pair of tongs. 

Squ. She has not had a tooth in her head these 
thirty years, nor capable of man these forty. 

Her. The boy's i' th' right ; the jade's as lean as 
a luke olive, and as dry as a mummy, — a skeleton 
fit only to read lectures on. 

Bow. But, Squire, if your mother has not been 
capable of man these forty years, how came you 
to be but eighteen ? 

Squ. I am none of her son, man. I'm but a by- 
blow my father got of a cinder woman one night 
a-serenading ; so that you cannot properly call me 
the son of a whore, but the son of a serenade. 

Aim. Hark you, sir ! are not you a damned 
eternal lying rascal ] 

Her. Ay, by my life, is he ; but I cannot be 
angry, he lies so impudently. 



244 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

Squ. Oh, dear sir, now you compliment. I 
assure you, gentlemen, my father is the cock liar 
of all Norfolk. 

Her. My son, i' faith ! Besides, he is full of in- 
vention, and for that cause I mean to bind him 
prentice to a poet. 

Omnes. Prentice to a poet 1 This is more than 
ridiculous. 

Her. Yes ; and my reason is, if he should prove 
dull, as 'tis many a poet's case, yet they cannot 
deny him to be a poet, because he has served his 
time for 't. Besides, as he is a poet, he sees plays 
for nothing, and that's considerable. 

Boiu. And must he needs be a poet when he has 
served his time 1 Faith, bind him prentice to a 
lord ; by the same rule he'll be a lord when he's out 
of his time. 

Her. Now you joke. Yes indeed must he ; but, 
really, do you know ever a poet that wants a 
prentice 1 

Arm. Pray you, gentlemen, manage these fools ; 
'twill be worth while. 

Aim. Sir, I know a rare poet, but he'll have two 
hundred pounds with a prentice. 

Her. I stand not upon that ; but I'm for one of 
the primest of 'em, one of those that swinges the 
Gods about. 

Squ. No, father, I had rather be prentice to a 
comic poet ; that's witty company. Some of your 
heroic poets, they say, write rarely well, yet are 
the heaviest, dull, insipid animals over a glass of 
wine in nature. 

Her. Ay, and some of 'em will filch and steal 
out o'th' old plays, and cry down the authors 
when they've done. 

Squ. They have no more invention than there is 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 245 

in the head of a soused mackerel. Now they've 
turned cobblers ; they vamp and mend old plays. 

Her. Or rather turned tinkers, who stop one 
hole and make ten : so they mend one fault and 
make twenty. 

Squ. But, gentlemen, am I to serve a seven 
years' prenticeship % 

Aim. No, sir, but five. 'Tis with a poet as with 
a red or fallow deer ; the fifth year he is a stag or 
buck o' th' first head ; so he that writes. 

Squ. A pretty kind of similitude ! And pray 
you, sir, do the poets shed their heads yearly as 
the deer do ? 

Arm. No, sir, in that they differ, else they come 
nearest of all creatures. For every year they com- 
mence and have new titles ; as, for example, a stag, 
— the first year he's a calf, the second a brocket, the 
third a brock, the fourth a staggard, and the fifth 
year a stag o' th' first head. 

Bow. So he that means to be a poet, the first 
year he's an ass, the second a fop, the third a 
witlin, the fourth a wit, and the fifth year a poet 
o' th' first head. 

Her. Aha, sirrah, here's learning in this ! 'Tis 
ingenious and admirable. 

Squ. But, sir, have not your wits their degrees 
too 1 

Bow. Oh yes ; there are your first, second, third, 
fourth, and fifth-rate wits too. 

Arm. Ay, and your first, second, third, fourth, 
and fifth-rate fools too. 

Squ. That we have i'th' country. But why 
should a poet be an ass the first year 1 

Arm. A poet is not an ass ; he is five years ad- 
vanced above it. Yet let any man that has writ 
five years look back into what he writ the first 



216 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

year, and he will find himself an ass, I warrant 
you. 

Squ. I believe I should make a good fop, but 
I am positive I shall never make an ass as long as 
I live. 

Bow. Never despair ! I'll help you to an hundred 
gentlemen shall make an ass of you presently. 

Squ. I shall be extremely beholding to you, for 
the devil take me if I know which way to go 
about it myself. 

Aim. Sir, your father must requite this courtesy. 

Squ. Command him anything but his new play ; 
he is mighty choice of that. 

Her. I confess I am a little fond of my play. 

Arm. That's more than any man else can be, I 
doubt. 

Aim. Why is 't not played 1 ? 'Twas made in 
Norfolk, I doubt. 

Her. So all you fops cry, indeed ; but your cock 
wits and your cock poets cry it up to the skies. It 
is so lashing a satire against the whole nation, I 
should ha' been hanged had it been played. 

Boiv. 'Tis a thousand pities 'twas not played, 
then. But I am told 'tis a damned play, worse than 
ever Mr. Bayes * writ in all his whole cartload. 

Her. Sir, I had as lief you would stab me to 
the heart as speak ill of my play. 

Aim. But, Knight, I hope you remember your 
promise to me 1 

Her. Upon my life, thou shalt have one of the 
rich heiresses ; the guardian and I are the inti- 
matest friends i' th' world. And so, gentlemen, 
let's go bind my son prentice to this famous poet. 

Bow. Agreed, agreed ! and there shall he be 
sufficiently abused. [Exeunt. 

* Dryden. 



sir hercules buffoon. 247 

Scene v. 
Enter Sir Marmaduke and Mariana. 

Sel. We are happy, Mariana. I saw my nieces 
under sail below the Hope, with a fair wind to 
blow 'em to destruction. We are happy in thy 
sister too, for never was so ingenious a mimic. 
She imitates her northern cousin ; no player ever 
acted like her. And the necessity of it is great, 
for there is such notice taken of her Yorkshire 
speech, that, should her tongue be missing, we 
were all in question. 

Mar. She does it so well that she puts me but 
too much in mind of my poor little cousin. 

Sel. Death ! do you repent % Value thyself upon 
thy fortune ! Be proud ! mankind shall pay thee 
homage as if it were thy due and their duty. My 
heart is set upon the highest pinnacle of pride — 
not for myself; I am proud for thee, my jewel, 
and had I power I would make the whole body of 
the earth bow to thee, though it dropped out 
o' th' frame, and dashed itself into eternal atoms. 
Yet am I pleased to match thee to the great, the 
virtuous, and the valiant Lord Arminger. 

Mar. The noble character that you so oft have 
given him has made an impression here so deep, 
that before I see I love. Keport has conquered 
ere the siege is laid. 

Sel. Those blessed words create me a new man, 
young and vigorous. The course of nature, joined 
with envious age, cannot prevent the sprightly 
youth I now feel growing in me. 



248 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 



Enter Servant. 



Ser. Sir, Alderman Buffoon is come to see you. 

Sel. Alderman Buffoon, dost thou call him? 
Prithee, good foolane, tell Alderman Buffoon that 
he may come in. 'Tis Alderman Buffoon ! I know 
him, — a vast rich citizen. Go you in, Mariana, no 
more my daughter, but my niece. 

Mar. I understand you, sir. [Exit Mariana. 

Enter Alderman. 

Aid. Sir Marmaduke ! I come to congratulate 
your good fortune. 

Sel. Good fortune in what, sir % 

Aid. In being sole guardian to your brother's 
daughters. 

Sel. Where lies the good fortune of that 1 

Aid. Oh, sir, it gains you esteem in the world ) 
besides, good advantage may be made on't. 

Sel. Advantage 1 What ! do you take me for a 
knave ? 

Aid. Fie, no ! and yet I think you are no fool. 

Sel. All the town knows their fortune ; what 
advantage, then, can I make, unless I wickedly 
betray my trust 1 

Aid. Said like a worthy gentleman ! I know 
your principles are honourable, your spirit high, 
but your fortune is low ; consider that ! 

Sel. Pray you, come to your meaning, sir. 

Aid. An honest advantage may be made, and I 
come to offer it. 

Sel. I would have you know, were there no 
other but the common thing called honesty, that 
would guard me from corruption. But here's a 
stronger tie, a tender conscience. Alas ! doomsday 
is ever in my thoughts, and I dare not hear you. 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 249 

Aid. I wonder your high spirit and a tender 
conscience should agree so well 1 'Tis strange, 
too, that having been so lavish as to spend your 
great estate, you should now be so good a hus- 
band as to lay up for doomsday, a thing so far 
off. 

Sel. Death, sir, do you come to affront me 1 

Aid. No ; I say again, an honest advantage may 
be made, if there were twenty doomsdays. Will 
ten thousand pounds damn you 1 Ask any man's 
opinion. But, case it would, I know twenty 
citizens with tender consciences, that make long 
prayers too, and yet would run the risk of dooms- 
day for ten thousand pound. 

Sel. Oh, most fearful! I hope you've better 
thoughts of me. Alas, I have a grave to think on, 
and in my chamber stands my coffin with my 
father's skull upon 't, and when I awake they are 
the first objects that my eyes encounter ; and can 
you ever hope to corrupt me then 1 

Aid. I never knew a tender conscience afraid of 
an honest motion before. Since you're turned a 
simple precisian, farewell, sir ! 

Sel. Nay, pray stay, an honest motion may be 
heard at last. 

Aid. Well said ! Then thus it is : I have a nephew 
that I'll make my heir, and if you'll match your 
northern niece to him, I'll settle five thousand 
pounds a year on him, and at my death the rest. 
And I'll give you ten thousand pounds for your 
consent. You know I can make this good. 

Sel. Where's your nephew 1 Fetch him pre- 
sently ; but I will take no money. 

Aid. Well, well, who is your goldsmith ? 

Sel. I have no goldsmith, nor will I take money; 
'tis vicious bribery. Yet, now you talk of a gold- 



250 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

smith, Mr. Cash is as just a man as can be dealt 
with. 

Aid. Tis enough ! I understand you. 

Sel. You must not understand me so, indeed, 
sir. 

Aid. Away, away! you're too modest, too honest 
to live among men. I'll do it, and bring my 
nephew presently. [Exit Alderman. 

Sel. Ha, ha ! I laugh to think how this fellow 
will report my tender conscience to the citizens. 
Well, if this fool will fall into a trap that never 
was laid for him, then 'tis not I but fate destroys 
him. [Exit. 



Act hi. — Scene i. 

Enter Lord Arminger, Bowman, Aimwell, 
Poet, Servants and bottles. 

Arm. Gentlemen, pray ye salute my friend 
Overwise ! he has undertaken to be the poet to 
whom the Squire is bound prentice. 

Omnes. Your humble servant, Mr. Overwise. 

Over. Gentle worthies, I am your contracted and 
betrothed friend. 

Arm. Can there be a finer-phrased fool than 
this? 

Bow. No, certainly ; he is our contracted and 
betrothed fool. 

Over. My lord ! No, the word lord is too com- 
mon ; it tastes of vulgerality. 

Aim. God's so, there's a fine word ! Vulgerality 
is your own coining, sir 1 

Over. Stamped in my own mint, sir. I hope so 






SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 251 

to refine the English tongue that the Dukes and 
Peers of France will come over hither to learn the 
language. 

Aim. That's a great project. Do you hope to 
see it in your own lifetime 1 

Over. No question, sir. Do you hope to see 
Paul's built 1 

Aim. Yes, without doubt. £ m 

Over. At the same time I expect the Peers of 
France to learn the English tongue. 

Arm. But, Mr. 0verwise, prithee what are those 
squirts and bottles for 1 

Over. They are proper instruments to initiate 
an ass withal. You must second me, as I have 
ordered the ceremony; he will really be very 
much abused. 

Bow. Abused 1 Hang him ! to murder him 
requires no more compassion than drowning of a 
kitlin. 

Enter Sir Hercules and Squire. 

Her. Save you, my lord ! Save ye, gentlemen ! 
You honour me to come to this ceremony. Which 
is my son's master, sirs 1 

Bow. This is the worthy person your son is 
bound prentice to. 

Her. Are you a poet, worthy sir 1 

Arm. Yes, sir ; he is one of those that swinges 
the Gods about. 

Over. I am by my profession a poor poet, sir. 

Her. That's no wonder, for I never heard of a 
rich one in my life. 

Over. Oh, sir, poets, like philosophers, despise 
wealth. The fame of worthy wit is all we aim at. 

Her. You may aim, but ne'er hit the mark, I 



252 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 



doubt; however, 'tis an honourable ambition. 
Well, what is he to be the first year 1 

Over. The first year he takes his degree of ass. 

Her. Oh, 'tis true; you told me of a ceremony to 
enter or initiate him into the order of asshood. 

Arm. I have heard of manhood, but never of 
asshood before. 

Over. Sir, the ceremony is great. The rule was 
among the ancient poets, when a man took his 
degree, to bathe in the liquor of the Gods ; but we 
modern wits steep our brains altogether in Bur- 
gundy and Pontack, and we find it does the busi- 
ness every whit as well. 

Her. But how do you know that ? 

Over. By comparing the ancient and modern 
wits together. Come, sir, you must strip to your 
shirt. Get the bottles and glasses ! 

Bow. The ceremony to a stranger will seem to 
be a gross abuse ; however, I assure you it is no 
more than what all men undergo that are bound 
prentice to poets. 

Omnes. That we all upon our honours do assure 
you. 

Squ. Nay, then, I will undergo it, whatsoever it 
be. 

Her. We can suffer as much abuse as any family 
in England upon the score of poetry. 

Over. Come, kneel down, sir ! Now fill every 
gentleman a bumper of claret. You must know 
for six months together he must swallow daily two 
verses ; and by old custom he must begin with 
Chaucer, and so go through all the English poets 
till he come to modern Mr. Bayes. The ceremony 
is an ancient copy of verses taken out of the 
records of Parnassus. 

Her, Is it possible 1 Pray, sir, oblige me with 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. -53 

a copy of verses out of the records of Parnassus. 
What work shall we make i' th' country with 'em. 
bay .' 

>?:■:. Ay. father : 

C \ Are you all ready 1 Kneel down. sir. 

H-r, He will hurt his knees : pray ye. let him 
have a cushion. 

Arm. Bv no means : 'tis absolutely against the 
reord :.f Parnassus. 

>;■ . Then bang knees, father. 

Hir. 'Shearr : "What a deal ado is here about 
making one an as& 

O'.-'ir. Silence '. Stand all ready charged ! 

Thy dull and stupid blockhead must be 

washed, 
And in thy face bumpers of claret dashed. 
[Throw the wku kasfi 
Pour on his head the best Canary sack. 
And down his throat Burgundy and Pontaek. 

J • wine. 
Wash all his body with the choice.-: wine, 
Thai grows upon the fruitful river Ehine. 
Leave not e'en one dry thread upon his shirt. 
And do't with each of ye a lusty squirt. 
7 :i squirt him aU 

H-; -. Hold ! 'Sheart. hold ! I think you mean 
to make an ass of my son indeed. 
. Who the devil doubts it ! 
Bc-ic. Why. sir. you know he is to be made 
poetically an ass. 

Her. Tis true : but yet 'twould stir a n 

.1 to see one's child used at this roguish rate. 
Arm. Sir. by the rules oi Parnassus he ought to 
take his degrees upon the rack. 



254 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

Her. 'Sheart, I'll have no child of mine put 
upon the rack, my lord ! 

Bow. 'Tis not intended ; that act was abolished 
by reason of the torment. 

Squ. Nay, I'll endure any torment rather than 
not be a complete ass. 

Her. I could find in my heart, the devil take me, 
to step to Parnassus, and see whether it be so or 
no. 

Arm. You will not lose your labour, for really 
I have been there and read the record. 

Squ. Pox of your records ! my knees ache dam- 
nably. Do they use to have agues in Parnassus % 
My teeth chatter in my head, I am so wet and so 
cold. 

Over. Come, we will make an end. Silence ! 

Here I produce a rare and precious pill, 
Made by the doctors of Parnassus' Hill ; 
The virtue is, it will thy brain inspire 
With th' airy flames of brisk poetic fire, 
Having in it the refined quintessence 
Of wit, true wisdom, and well-worded sense. 
It being wrapt up in two lines of Chaucer, 
You must with reverence swallow it down 
your maw, sir. 

Her. Silence ! Come, let's make an end ! 

In's face let each man throw a full beer glass. 
[Full glasses thrown in his face. 
That ceremony done, rise up and pass 
For a well-grounded and sufficient ass ! 

Squ. Do you call throwing of beer glasses in a 
man's face a ceremony 1 

Over. In Parnassus we do. Now, sir, I'll justify 
to the world you're an ass. 






SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 255 

Arm. A pretty thing to brag of! Two such 
fools nature ne'er produced. 

Her. I declare I like the pill wonderfully; I 
must have one of 'em. 

Squ. For all this, I cannot fancy myself to be an 
ass yet. 

Arm. Oh, yes ; the very first minute you 
parted with your money you were an ass, I assure 
you. 

Squ. How 1 You mean I was an ass for parting 
with my money, my lord 1 

Arm. I mean fairly by the rules of poetry. 

Her. Then you're an ass upon record, sirrah ! 
Now you're a prentice, your hat must not be on 
before your master. 

Arm. That's your mistake ; an ass puts off his 
hat to no man, but is void of all manners. His 
talent is to be bold, rude, and saucy, without 
regard to quality or any distinction of persons. 

Her. If those qualifications will do, I'll warrant 
him a sufficient ass. 

Bow. And now you are so, Squire, you must 
always have a cane, but not in your hand ; 'tis to 
be worn ever under your arm, that when you turn 
about you may take the next man a slap over the 
face. 

Squ. Adad, that's pretty ! Look to your chops, 
father ! But, sir, are them asses that wear their 
canes so? 

Aim. They are shrewdly to be suspected. 

Squ, I am an apt scholar. I do but what you 
teach me ; ha ! 

Her. I am thinking, my lord, what contemp- 
tible titles a man must pass over before he attains 
to the honourable name of poet, — as ass, fop, and 
witlin. 



25 G SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

Bow. Poet is an honourable title ; it admits of 
no addition. 

Squ. Oh, father, the fame of poetry is above all 
mortal honour. Wealth and greatness perish, the 
man of dignity dies, but poets are eminently and 
prodigiously immortal. 

Her. By my life, the boy speaks rarely well 
already ! If he talk thus wittily being an ass, 
how will he talk when he's a poet 1 

Aim. Little better, I assure thee. 

Squ. Poets are esteemed above Princes. I have a 
reverend author for it called Taylor, the water poet. 

" When nature did intend some wondrous thing, 
She made a poet, or at least a King." 

Ben Jonson would ha' given a hundred pounds — 
if he had had it, that is — to ha' been author of 
those two lines. 

Her. Did ever boy speak so rarely, gentlemen % 
The devil take me, I could find in my heart to 
commence ass myself. 

Arm, Commence changeling, for thou wert born 
an ass. 

Squ. Hark you, sir ! now I'm entered, I may 
censure plays, may I not % 

Arm. Yes, yes ! to censure pl&ys and women is 
natural to an ass. [Exit Squire. 

Over. Well, my Earl, I value myself much upon 
this frolic. 

Arm. So thou mayest. 

Aim. Sir Hercules, 'tis time to remember your 
promise, and to present me to the guardian. If 
thy interest get me one of the heiresses, here's my 
hand I'll not murder thee. 

Her. 'Tis enough ! I'm so intimate with the 
guardian, I'm certain he'll deny me nothing. 



SIR HERCULES BU FFOON. 257 



Enter Footman. 

Foot. My lord, here's a letter from Sir Marma- 
duke Seldin. 

Arm. 'Ods so, the guardian to the heiresses ! 
Gentlemen, I must take leave, and for a while 
grow serious. 

Her. My lord, I thank you for this honour. 
Bowman, prithee go with me ! [Exeunt. 

Scene ii. 

Enter Sir Marmaditke and Mariana at one door, 
French Woman at another. 

Worn. sir, sir, sir ! 

Set. What is the matter that you stare so 1 

Worn. Sir, my country north lady will no learn 
French of me. Me must learn Yorkshire of her 
or she will beat my brain. 

Set. That is just her humorous little cousin. 
Tis happy that she mimics her so well ; that pre- 
serves us from suspicion. 

Enter Tailor. 

Tail. Oh, sir, what sail me do? Me have 
brought my Yorkshire madam two new gown 
home, and begar she have cut off all her long train 
to de very calf of her leg ! 

Enter Fidelia. 

Set. Here she comes ! Fie, fie, niece ! I must 
chide you, niece. They say you've cut the train 
off your gowns, and quite spoiled 'em, niece. 

Fid. Nay, honey nuncle, they're ne'er the war 
for me ; why, lack-a-day, they come down to the 
varra heels of me yet, my beam. 

R 



258 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

Mar. Nay, sister, you must be ruled, and wear 
your clothes fashionably, as I do. 

Fid. Now, oot upon thee, sister ! yee wad have 
me wear a lang tail behind me, as my naunt's 
brown cow does at hame. 

Mar. They are not tails, but trains, sister. 
Great persons wear them as ornaments of State, 
as an honourable distinction from those of lower 
quality. 

Fid. By my troth, but I'se teld that naughty 
sluts wear 'em as well as your great Countesses. 

Sel. Ay, but, niece, persons of quality have 
Pages, — boys a purpose to hold up their trains. 

Fid. Have they boys to hold up their tails behind 1 
Do not the unlucky lads peep in 'em sometime ? 

Sel. Fie, niece, what have you said 1 Those are 
paw * words indeed. 

Fid. Why, nuncle, did I say bawdiness now 1 

Sel. No, not downright, but very near it, I 
assure you. 

Fid. Nay, by my saul, sister, gin my naunt at 
York should but knaw that I said bawdiness, 
marra, she'd shatter my brains oot; faith wad she! 

Sel. Come, sweet niece, be ruled, and let the 
French people dress you and make a fine lady of you. 

Fid. Wad my French tailor were hanged ; he 
stinks of wine as sour as a swine-trough. Beside 
he is varra saucy with ma, nuncle. 

Sel. Saucy ! how % saucy was he ? 

Fid. Oh, my saul, nuncle, gin I'd let him alane, 
he had taken measure o' th' inside of me as well as 
o' th' out. 

Sel. You damned villain ! ha ! I never heard 
of such a rogue. 

[Draws ; the Man runs out. 

* Paw-paw : naughty. — Ver. diil. 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 259 

Fid. Nuncle, I'd have my naunt's tailor, Billy 
Barton of York, make my gowns for me. 
Sel. Prithee, who is Billy Barton of York ] 
Fid. Marra, he's the delicatest tailor in all 
England ; he makes my Lord Mayor of York's 
gowns, and Lady Mairise's tee. 

Enter Alderman and Squire. 

Aid. Come, sir, I mean to marry you to the 
Northern heiress. — Sir, I have brought my nephew 
and my heir. 

Sel. He is welcome. Pray you, sir, salute my 
nieces. — I should scorn to have this Buffoon come 
into the presence of my children but for the con- 
veniency of destroying him. 

Aid. Here's a bill upon Alderman Marrow for 
ten thousand pound. 

Sel. I'll not take it indeed, sir. 

Aid. Come, come ; you must and shall have it. 

Sel. I'll not touch it, truly ; give it my eldest 
niece, if you please, to buy her pins. A proud 
man may let his daughter stoop to ten thousand 
pound. [A kiss. 

Aid. Fair lady, here's a paper of pins will last 
you and your heirs for ever. Sir, I have brought 
the deeds of my estate to peruse and to keep till 
our Counsel settle things of all hands. 

Sel. Tis enough ; let us in and view the writ- 
ings. 

Squ. Sir, I swear by Parnassus, you have got 
the most superlative paragon of the North. I am 
struck with an amour as suddenly as he that fell 
in love while he pulled on his boots. 

Aid. Sir, you have taken Sir Marmaduke over 
the face with your cane. 



260 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

Squ. The mode must crave your pardon, not I. 
The whole congregation of Gallants use it as a 
novel lately come from France. 

Sel. A most superlative fool ! This is one of 
nature's bold strokes, niece. You see a monster 
there almost in the shape of a man ; use him ac- 
cordingly. 

[Exeunt Sir Marmaduke and Alderman. 

Fid. I understand you, sir; let me alone to 
abuse him, sir. — Is thou to be my husband, sweet 
honey beam 1 

Squ. Honey % What a loving fool it is ; she calls 
me honey at first sight. 

Fid. Now, I prithee, honey, help me to curse 
my Frenchwoman. 

Squ. Ay, with all my heart, honey. A pox 
upon her, and confound her ! Where is she % 

Fid. Honey, thou mun let me bang thee some 
time, then thou't be my good lad. 

Squ. Ay, with all my heart, bang all the honey 
out of the hive of Parnassus. 

Fid Stand lair, then, honey ; there's for thee 
now. [Box d tK ear. 

Squ. The devil ! You strike too hard, honey. 

Fid. Hang thee, thou mun not frown ; thou mun 
smile sweetly on me when I box thee ; now thou's 
my defty.* And wilt thou play finely with me, 
and not hurt me 1 [Box o' & ear ; he smiles. 

Squ. Play finely with me and not hurt me? 
'Sheart, I have got a little whore, I think. 

Fid. Now, my beam, thou mun lake t at, Come, 
mother, saw you my cock to-day t 

* Qy. dawty ? — one to be caressed and fondled. 
t Play. 

" William wel with Meliors his wille than dede, 
And layked there at lyking al the long daye/' 

William and the Werwolf, p. 38. 






SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 261 

Squ, Come, mother, saw you my cock today t 
'Sheart, 'tis a whore of a certain. 

Fid. Thou mun play at Rampscuttle and Clap- 
perdepouch with me, my honey. 
' Squ. Clapperdepouch 1 Devil, what a strange 
kind of a wife shall I have ! Come, then, show 
me your Kampscuttle. 

Fid. Thou mun first put on a petticoat. My 
Frenchwoman shall make a lad-lass of thee. 

[Puts on a petticoat. 

Squ. Anything to please you, madam. 

Fid. Then thou 's my pretty Frenchwoman, and 
I'll give thee a honey sugar kiss. 

Squ. I'll do her the honour to give her a honey 
sugar kiss too. 

Mar. A great honour, indeed. What an absolute 
fool is this ! 

Fid. Come, honey, learn Kampscuttle; begin 
thus. [Dance. 

Squ. With all my heart. 'Slife, what a mad 
couple shall we make ! 

Fid. That's my fool ; wilt thou be my fool, 
honey 1 

[She turns round and claps doicn ; then he. 

Squ, I'll be thy fool ; nay, I'll be thy cuckold, 
honey. 

Fid. Wilt thou 1 I' faith, and we have mad 
lads ; we make swingeing cuckolds in Yorkshire. 

Squ. That's nothing to be a cuckold, madam. 
My father and mother are cuckolds ; we can prove 
our genealogy to be cuckolds from the very loins 
of King Pippin. 

Fid. Whaw, whaw, marra, the devil take thee 
and thy King Pippin to boot ! Now play at Clap- 
perdepouch, my honey beam. Clapperdepouch, clap- 
perdepouch, clapperde, clapperde, clapperdepouch ! 



262 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

Squ. This is the finest wife for my turn that 
ever mortal light on ! Oh, devil ! you have beat 
out my teeth, honey ! 

[She turns, and hits him on the face with his cane. 

Fid. The fashion mun crave thy pardon, honey, 
not I ; besides, all the teeth of thy genealogy have 
been beaten out up to King Pippin. What's thy 
name, honey 1 

Squ. I am proud of my name ; I was christened 
Squire Buffoon. 

Fid. By my saul, Buffoon is a worse name than 
King Pippin. 

Squ. Honey, we are the ancientest family of 
the nation ; our mansionhouse is called Buffoon, 
and our coat is three buffoons. 

Fid. Methinks you should give three pippins 
too, and that would show your descent plainly 
from King Pippin. 

Squ. If the heralds are to be bribed, I'll have 
'em. Come, honey, shall we go behind the door 
and play finely together, and get one another with 
child of two young Pippins % 

Fid. Marra, out upon the grizely beast ! Wie 
wad ta make a slut of me, and have me play at 
bawdiness with thee 1 Help, help, help ! 

Fnter Alderman and Sir Marmaduke. 

Aid. How now, what's the matter 1 

Fid. Marra, he's e'en a foul beast ; that is a, 
nuncle, he wad have me go into the dark, and do 
naughtiness with him. 

Squ. She asked me to play finely with her and 
not hurt her ; then what could I say less 1 

Sel. This rogue was composed of a coarser stuff 
than the common creation, of unrefined clay, such 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 263 

as bearwards and tinkers were made up of. You 
are content, sir, to settle all entirely upon ray 
niece and her heirs i 

Aid, Most freely ; upon this match I'll make 
my nephew a lord. 

Sel. There are so many Buffoons stolen into 
titles, that men would judge they came not law- 
fully by them. Come, sir, let us go settle this 
estate. 

Squ. Why, honey, shall we not have one trial of 
skill for a young Pippin ] [Exeunt. 

Scene hi. 

Enter Sir Hercules, Laton, Bowman, Squire, 
and Clerk. 

La. Sir, be sure you make my peace, or all the 
world shall not save your throat. I will be at the 
door and hear all you say, sir. [Exit Laton. 

Bow. If thou get'jt off o' this, Knight, I'll prefer 
thee to the first form of Wits, and that's very 
honourable, I assure you. 

Her. I had rather be an honourable first-rate 
Wit than a first-rate Alderman. 

Enter Judge. 

Bow. Thou art bravely disguised ; have a good 
heart ! here's the Judge. 

Jud. Save ye, gentlemen ! Are jou Sir Thomas 
Lovill, sir? 

Her. I am, Knight and Baronet, if you please, 
my Lord. 

Jud. Then, sir, if you please, your business 1 

Her. Second me, sirs. — I come to inform your 
Lordship of the most notorious villain that ever 



264 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

wore the figure of a man, — one Sir Hercules Buf- 
foon. The law, no doubt, will give your Lordship 
damage enough for the scandalous things he has 
said of you. 

Jud. Of me, sir 1 Scandalous things of me ? 
Pray you, the words 1 

Bow. What the devil ! does your father mean 
to be hanged ? 

Squ. For a good lie he'll venture that at any 
time. 

Her. He said your Lordship loved a bribe above 
your allegiance, and that you have unjustly given 
away an estate for a bribe of fifteen hundred 
guineas. 

Jud. That's action enough ; down with those 
guineas. What a villain 'tis ! 

Squ. Ay, you'd say so if you knew the rogue as 
well as we do, my Lord. 

Her. You dog, I do not allow you to abuse me 
thus. 

Jud. But, gentlemen, have you witness of this ? 

Her. Enough, my Lord ; myself and two gentle- 
men more, — not these ; they can witness another 
thing. One Laton, hearing how Buffoon had 
abused your Lordship, comes to him, and had 
downright killed him but for these two gentlemen. 

Squ. 'Tis very true, my Lord ; I got a broken 
head with parting 'em, and this gentleman was 
run through the arm. 

Bow. A pox on him, I must own it now. — He 
tells you true, my Lord. 

Jud. Pray you, what Laton is it that has fought 
for me thus 1 

Her. One Eobin Laton, my Lord. Buffoon's a 
valiant fellow, and yet this Laton has cudgelled 
and beaten him to stockfish, my Lord. 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 265 

Jud. That Robin Laton is my kinsman. I 
turned him out of doors ; 'tis much, then, he 
should fight for me. 

Her. Your kinsman, my Lord % he might be your 
son by his desperate fighting for you. 

Jud. Say you so '? If this be true, gentlemen, 
I'll make him happy. 

Bow. We can all witness it, my Lord. To say 
truth, Sir Hercules is a most pernicious, mis- 
chievous rascal. 

Squ. A notorious villain, my Lord. There has 
not been a rogue hanged these seven years that 
has deserved it so much as he has done. 

Her. You dog, remember this ; I'll maul you 
for 't. 

Jud. Well, I'll trounce the rogue, I warrant 
you. Has he an estate to make good the damages 
the law will give me % 

Squ. Enough, enough, my Lord. Hang him ! a 
damned rich hell-hound ! 

Her. Zounds ! was ever man thus abused, Bow- 
man] — Nay, he said your Lordship was a most 
gigantic whoremaster, and that you have nine 
bawds lie leaguer in the country to send up fresh 
virgins to you. 

Jud. Pox on him, would he could make his 
words good ! I'll firk the knave. How shall we 
do to take him \ 

Her. If your Lordship will grant me your war- 
rant, I'll bring him before your honour to-morrow 
morning. 

Jud. Clerk, write a warrant presently. I'll not 
leave him worth a groat ; he shall rot in jail. 

Her. To see that rogue a beggar would make 
me pray for your Lordship all the days of my life. 
The knave called me cuckold, my Lord, too. 



266 SIR HERCULES BUFEOON. 

Squ. Faith, sir, no child can say absolutely who 
was his father; wives will have their fancies, and 
why not yours 1 

Her. You abominable rogue ! — My Lord, have 
not you an office in your gift % 

Jud. Yes, I have, sir. 

Bow. I'll tell you, my Lord ; this Buffoon, after 
Mr. Laton had beaten him, promised to get this 
office of your Lordship for Mr. Laton, pretending 
that he had you at such a hank you durst not 
deny him. 

Jud. I never saw the villain in my life. 

Bow. Nay, my Lord, the next day he told your 
nephew he had got the office for him, and made him 
go presently to give your Lordship thanks for it. 

Her. And the base fellow, they say, was never 
with your Lordship. 

Jud. No, indeed, sir ; and that made me angry 
with my nephew to give me thanks for that I 
never gave him. The man meant mischief. 

Her. Was ever such a shameless fellow, my 
Lord 1 By my troth, give your kinsman the office, 
and I'll give your Lordship two brace of fat deer 
every season, as long as you live, my Lord. 

Jud. Give it me under hand and seal, that I 
may demand them as my due, and I'll do it. 

Her. With all my heart, my Lord. 

Jud. Out of what park 1 for the place must be 
expressed in the writing. 

Her. Zounds! I've ne'er a park; what shall I 
do % — Out Whetstone's Park, in the county of Mid- 
dlesex, my Lord. 

Jud,. Whetstone 1 There is a place called Whet- 
stone by Barnet, but I never heard of a park 
there. 

Her. That's not the place. Whetstone's Park is 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 267 

as well known as London. I would it were an 
hundred miles off on't. I am so plagued with 
Citizens that I cannot have a deer that's man's meat 
but they steal it out of my park, my Lord. 

Clerk. Here is the warrant against Sir Hercules 
Buffoon. 

Jud. I'll sign it. Clerk, draw an indenture for 
two brace of deer yearly out of Whetstone's Park,* 
in the county of Middlesex, upon forfeiture of five 
hundred pounds, from Sir Thomas Lovill. 

Bow. Here I shall burst out a-laughing ; I can- 
not hold. 

Enter Laton. 

La. My Lord, here's one to summon all the 
Judges to court. 

Jud. 'Ods so, I must away, then. Sir, I forgive 
you for defending my reputation so well ; I give 
you the office, and all my estate after my death. 
Nephew, see Sir Thomas Lovill sign the obligation 
for two brace of deer yearly out of Whetstone's 
Park, in Middlesex ; and, sir, I hope you will 
apprehend that rascal Buffoon for me. 

[Exit Judge. 

Her. I'll have him as sure as the day comes, my 
Lord. 

La. Dear Knight, thou art come off with honour ; 
thou art my golden calf, and I'll worship thee. 

* Whetstone's Park is referred to in Crowne's Country Wit. 
See Crowne's Works in this series, Vol. III. See also author's 
address to Lee's ' Princess of Gleves.' It was situated on the 
Holborn side of Lincoln's Inn Fields, and was much fre- 
quented by women of the town. Granger, in his account of 
Mother Cresswell, observes: "The daughters of iniquity 
were much more numerous than the mothers. They were 
dispersed through every quarter of the town, but Moorfields, 
Whetstone's Park, Lukener's Lane, and Dog and Bitch Yard, 
were their capital seraglios. " 



268 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

Bow. Never had man so much ado to forbear 
laughing as I have had at this Whetstone's Park. 

ISqu. I was fain to turn about and laugh. 

Clerk. I had certainly laughed in the Judge's 
face, but for consideration of you, sir. 

La. Clerk, take heed you be very just. 

Clerk. As your own heart, i' faith. 

Bote. How thou wilt get clear of the Judge when 
he comes to have his deer out of Whetstone's Park, 
I know not. 

Her. I have a harder task by half; I am to 
help Aim well to one of the rich heiresses. I have 
told him a damned lie. 

La. Like enough ; prithee, what is it 1 

Her. I told him the guardian and I were inti- 
mate friends, old acquaintance and schoolfellows, 
and the devil take me if I ever saw him in my 
life ; yet I am resolved to face him down that we 
are dear friends and old acquaintants, and that's as 
hard a task as ever impudence undertook. 

Bou: Faith, so 'tis, considering the great spirit 
of the guardian. 

Her. I'll do it for all that. 

Squ. Give me thy hand, father ; I commend thy 
impudence, old 

La. Bravely resolved ! Come, I will first treat 
thee, then go with thee, and back thee manfully. 

[Exeunt. 



Act iv. — Scene i. 

Enter Lord Arminger, Guardian, Mariana, and 
Waiters. 

Arm. Wait in the next room. 

Sel. I am prouder to have the great Lord 



SIR HEECX'LES BOTOON. 269 

Arminger under this mean roof than haughty 
Princes are . :' empire : and I bow with such rever- 
ence tc youi person as holy men do to the holy 
altar, and with the same humility offer my obla- 
tion up. Receive her as from Heaven, for she is 
fraught with virtue equal with the angels. 

A Sir, I admire you with more than com- 
mon wonder. Guardians usually make price of 
the innocent orphans in their charge, but you are 
more than just, you are kind, and to that degree 
which parents have for children. 

Sd. I shall betray myself with violent fondness ; 
such torrents of love flow in me, that I think the 
world too little for her dower. 

JIar. Indeed, my Lord, his tender care seems 
to have more of father than guardian in't, in 
which we hold ourselves most highly blessed. 

Set. My good Lord, I leave you to make your 
court where doubtless you'll find your love most 
worthily and readily receive ~E : i Sexj 

At Madam, your uncle spoke largely of your 
virtues to me, but nothing of your person ; and 
now I see the cause, for 'tis impossible the capacity 
of man should reach the character of so much 
beauty as I now behold, and all the rest must 
needs submit to crown you Goddess of your 
/.::::::-. - -:: 

Mar. My Lord, you answer not your character. 
You were rendere 1 : 2 me the only man of honour, 
truth, and justice, and I hear nothing but airy 
compliment, fine poetical flattery : fit only to catch 
girls. 

A Madam, by my honour, and that s my 
dearest treasure, I flatter not, but speak truth just 
as my heart conceives it : therefore I again declare 
you are the only beauty that ever yet my 



270 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 



encountered, and I find a dotage stealing on me 
more than common love. 

Mar. Hold, my Lord, I command you ! for sure 
she may command that is so much admired? 
therefore, by that precious gem, your honour, are 
those sweet words you've spoken truth 1 

Arm. Madam, by all the bliss I hope for, I have 
no falsehood in me. 

Mar. Then stop and go no further in your love, 
I charge you, for I must never be your wife. 

Arm. How, madam 1 I came prepared by your 
uncle this day to marry you. 

Mar. Oh, my Lord, that day is further off* than 
the unknown, uncertain hour of doom. 

Arm. Madam, if there be cause for this your 
cruelty, reveal it ; and by the original of all honour 
here I swear, this bosom is your grave to bury all 
your secrets. 

Mar. I believe you, my Lord, with the same 
faith I do religion. 

Arm. Madam, you have reprieved my life, by 
thinking me worthy of your thoughts, though un- 
worthy of your love. 

Mar. Oh, my honoured Lord, it is my unworthi- 
ness, not yours, that must for ever keep this cruel 
distance. 

Arm. Whate'er the reason is, that cannot be it. 
Say you're contracted unknown to your uncle \ 
say any cruel thing but that. 

Mar. Then I declare the noble character my 
uncle gave me of your Lordship sprung in me a 
true and perfect love, which made my desires so 
violent to see you, that since my life till now was 
more uneasy than a sick man's restless night, and 
yet must never marry. 

Arm. Never was man pleased and startled so at 



. 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 271 

once ! Infinitely pleased to hear you say you love, 
but strangely startled that you ne'er must marry. 
The thought frights me. The ghosts of murdered 
men shake not guilty slaves as that resolve shakes 
me. I find man is not fortified to bear the frights 
of love. I beseech you, madam, if you have cause 
for this your resolution, give me some ease by 
imparting it. 

Mar. It is so dreadful for a good man to hear ; 
but, if your Lordship will ask my uncle's leave to 
carry me and my sister abroad, you then shall 
know why you and I must never marry. 

Arm. Your resolution has dispersed my spirits 
so, they are never more to be collected. All 
Avithin me lies confused ; a madman's blood's in 
better temper, and I am all on fire till I am satis- 
fied. 

Mar. My Lord, I am destroyed if you reveal me. 

Arm. You are more cruel in distrusting that 
than in refusing me. 

Mar. Your pardon ; and henceforth my trust 
shall ever rest in you. [Exeunt 

Scene ir. 

Enter Sir Hercules, Bowman, Aimwell, Laton, 
and Overwise. 

Aim. You have put me off from time to time, 
and I am resolved to be no longer fooled ; there- 
fore, try your interest you boast of with the 
guardian, or 

Her. Well, fool, doubt not me in the least. 
— This is the greatest strait I ever was yet put to, 
Bowman. For me to salute and impudently em- 
brace a man of his high spirit, and face him down 



272 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

that we are dear and intimate friends, and yet 
never saw him — the devil take me, 'tis a damned 
audacious task ! 

Bow. However, go forward ! here's my hand 
thou shalt not suffer. 

Her. Then, dear impudence, stand my friend 
this one push, and I'll own thee for my patron all 
my life. 

La. Here comes the guardian ; bear up, Knight ! 

Omnes. Your most humble servant, sir. 
Enter Seldin. 

Set. Gentlemen, I am to crave your pardon, my 
nieces are not this day to be seen ; however, the 
freedom of my house I tender you with all the 
respect imaginable. 

Her. Sure,, Sir Marmaduke, you will let your 
intimate friend see your nieces. Dear rogue, how 
dost thou do 1 — Own me for your friend and 
schoolfellow ; 'twill be thousands in your way. — 
This worthy gentleman, dear friend, thou must 
know. 

Sel. It will concern me more to know you, sir,, 
for in my life I never met such confidence. 

Her. Why, how now, Marmaduke, has your 
guardianship made you proud 1 Have you forgot 
yourself 1 

Sel. What the devil means this fellow 1 Gentle- 
men, who knows this creature 1 or who brought 
him hither 1 

Aim. We all know him, and he brought us 
hither, pretending more interest in you than all 
mankind besides. 

Sel. Upon my honour, gentlemen, I never saw 
the man before. 

Her. Thou shameless fellow, canst thou with so 
bold a face say thou know'st me not 1 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 273 

Aim. You are found out, i' faith, Knight! 

Her. Hang him, he knows me better than he 
knows his housekeeper ! 

Sel. I am at a stand, and know not how in this 
case to behave myself. 

Her. I commend thee, Marmaduke, for driving 
a jest so far. The devil take me, gentlemen, if I 
thought it had been in him. I loved thee dearly 
before, but this jocose humour of thine makes me 
admire thee. Dear rogue, let me hug and kiss 
thee, sweet boy. 

Sel. Stand off, or, as I'm a gentleman, I'll strike 
you ; which nothing could make me do in my own 
house, but such an impudent provocation. 

Her. Did you ever in your lives see a jest so 
well managed, gentlemen 1 He does it so rarely 
well that I dare swear you all think him in 
earnest. 

La. Yes, in good faith do we. 

Her. By my life, so should I, but that I have 
known him these fifty years. 

Sel. Pray ye, gentlemen, open the scene, and 
discover what buffoon this is. 

Her. Buffoon ! mark ye that ; as if he did not 
know me, and yet name me. He'll carry it thus 
till I am angry with him. 

Botv. Overwise is whispering of him ; he'll 
trouble him worse than Buffoon. 

Over. Sir, I am one that honours you. My name is 
Overwise ; by that you may judge I am no fool, sir. 

Sel. 'Sdeath ! this is a worse fop than the other. 

La. But, Knight, if Sir Marmaduke jokes, he 
does it rarely well. 

Her. He is the devil at joking. But that I 
would not say it to disgrace him, he has been an 
old player at the Black friars. 
s 



274 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

Sel. You eternal dog, I'll cut your throat ! 
Gentlemen, come ye to affront me 1 

Bow. Hold, good sir ! we come upon no such 
unworthy design, I assure you, sir ! 

Over. Sir, read Seneca, and he will teach you 
patience. 

Sel. Damn thee, fop ! is patience to be exercised 
in thy company '] 

Her. But you, friend Marmaduke, now 'tis time 
to leave fooling, and to own me for your old 
friend, as you have done these fifty years, or hang 
me if I do not declare you a proud foolish fellow. 

Sel. Gentlemen, I love wit and joking — no man 
more ; therefore, if this be a Court fool, or a public 
buffoon, declare it, and he's welcome. 

Her. Incomparable well ! incomparable ! Does 
he not carry it rarely well, gentlemen % 

Aim. I know not what to think. Are they 
acquainted or no, for a wager 1 

Over. No more than thou art with a reverend 
Divine, or the Emperor of Japan. 

Aim. Then is this rogue Buffoon the original 
of impudence, and the rest of mankind mere 
copies. [He whispers. 

Sel. 'Sdeath, your whispering torments me more 
than his impudence. Gentlemen, pray ye let me 
know the name and quality of this confident person. 

Her. Away, away, fools ! 'Sheart, he knows 
name and quality better than he knows his chil- 
dren. I'll show you by an infallible token that I 
know him, for lie has a mole of his right buttock 
as broad as both my hands. 

Sel. By my life, a villain, and he lies, gentlemen ! 

Her. Why, show the contrary, and that's de- 
monstration. Sure he will not let down his 
breeches to disprove me. 






SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 275 

Sel. I know not whether to laugh or to be angry. 
Pray ye, gentlemen, let me know his name. 

Bow. Sir, his name is Hercules Buffoon. 

Sel. Oh, I have heard of him. Sir Hercules, I 
must be better known to you. 

Her. A good jest ! as if you and I need to be 
better known. 

Sel. Nay, sir, I'll own anything you say, to 
keep up your humour. 

Over. But one ear more with you, sir. I'm one 
that loves curiosities. Have you really such a mole 
o' your buttock 1 

Sel. I can be angry no longer. Where the 
devil wert thou bred that thou delightest so in 
lying 1 

Her. Now, sirs, I'll tell you how we two arch 
rogues robbed my mother's orchard of all her wall 
fruit, her peaches, heart cherries, and her great 
Dutch strawberries. 

La. Pray ye, sir, are strawberries a wall fruit ? 

Her. You must know those were Greenland 
strawberries, and there they grow up to be vast 
great trees, and are nailed against the walls as 
vines are. 

La. By reason of the great heat of the climate, 
I suppose ; because Greenland, you know, lies 
under the line. 

Her. It does so. Thou hast travelled, or read 
maps, I find. But, sir, to clear ourselves of rob- 
bing the orchard, we drew forty huge overgrown 
carps out of a pond, each six foot long at least. 

Bow. How ! carps six foot long ! That's two 
yards, man. 

Sel. But then you must consider they were over- 
grown carps. 

Her. Right ! a monstrous overgrown carp may 



276 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

be nine foot long. But, sir, we put 'em in the 
peach-trees, then fetched my mother to see 'em ; 
and when we came back, the carps were skipping 
from tree to tree, eating the fruit as the devil 
drove 'em. So my mother wondered at it, and we 
were cleared of the robbery, old boy. 

Aim. Now the devil thy tutor take thee ; for 
every motion of thy tongue thou deservest a 
whipping. 

Her. This fellow is an infatuated Jew ; believes 
nothing — not so much as a Greenland strawberry- 
tree. 

Aim. Did you never tell a lie with Sir John 
Mandevil for a wager 1 

Her. Yes, and made an ass of him too. I'll 
tell you a thing that I am sure this fellow will 
give no credit to. 

Aim. Now thou speakest truth, I am sure of it. 

Her. Sir, I have been in a strange country, 
where all creatures are prodigiously bigger than 
in other parts of the world, though of the same 
species. For example, I have seen a bee as big as 
an eagle. 

Bow. Pray you, how big were the hives then 1 

Her. Full as big as Westminster Hall, only 
they're round. 

Over. A good simile ; for we have a fort of 
English vermin that bring all the honey of the 
nation to that hive indeed. 

Her. I have seen a cabbage-tree higher than the 
monument upon Fish Street Hill. 

Omnes. Thou boy, thou boy ! 

Her. You do not believe me, then ? The devil 
take me if these homebred fellows can be saved ! 
They neither know nor believe half the crea- 
tion. 



SIR HERCULES BUFEOON. 277 

Aim. The country thou speakest of is thy own 
creation. 

Her. Marmaduke, upon my credit, all their 
mainmasts for their capital ships are made of 
cabbage stalks, and the planks of the ships are all 
cabbage leaves, — and better timber by half than 
your English oak. 

Bow. If the planks of their ships be cabbage 
leaves, prithee what are the sails made of? 

Her. Upon my life, all their sails are made of 
spiders' webs. 

Omnes. Ha, ha, ha ■! 

Her. You ignorant fops, what do you laugh atl 
A spider's web there is ten times stronger than all 
the canvas sails in the world. And the spiders 
are bigger than the King's fine cranes in the park, 
but twenty times longer legged. The first time I 
saw them, they looked like Lincolnshire men 
walking i' th' fens upon stilts. 

Omnes. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Aim. If every man here should cut an inch of 
his tongue out, he would have enough left, I war- 
rant ye, to tell a lie. 

Over. Eeally, if one inch were off, 'tis possible 
he might speak truth ; and if one inch will not do, 
my opinion is to cut it clear out. 

Bow. Prithee, Knight, what's the name of the 
country where these wonders grow % 

Her. 'Tis called- — 'tis called Terra Incognita. 
All the seamen i' th' world know it. Ne'er a sculler 
o' th' Thames but knows Terra Incognita, fool ! 

Bow. 'Tis as well known as the north-east pas- 
sage to the Indies. The seamen know it as well as 
they know the Garden of Eden. 

Her. Why, there's no question i' th' world of it, 
man. 



278 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

Aim. If thou shouldst be condemned to speak 
truth all thy life, what a case wert thou in ! 

Her. I'll hold thee five guineas the next thing I 
speak of shall be truth, and deposit in Sir Marma- 
duke's hand. 

Aim. Done for five guineas ! There, sir. 

Her. And there, sir. You know I told ye, 
gentlemen, that the guardian and I were old 
acquaintants and intimate friends ; and may I 
perish if ever I saw him in my life before this 
hour. Speak truth, now, guardian. 

Sel. The man speaks truth now, upon my 
honour, gentlemen. 

Her. Then I have won. Now, I'll hold thee 
five guineas more that I ne'er speak truth again 
as long as I live. 

Omnes. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

Enter Servant. 

Ser. My Lord Arminger is come, and desires to 
see you. 

Sel. Gentlemen, I must crave your pardon. 
Great business calls me from ye ; but I desire ye to 
take the freedom of my house. [Exit Seldin. 

Enter Alderman and Squire. 

Her. Uncle, what makes you here ] 

Aid. I have matched our squire to the Northern 
heiress, and settled all my estate upon the lady. 

Bow. Sir, your nephew cannot marry till he is 
out of his time, for he is prentice to a poet. 

Aid. How ! Prentice to a poet ! 

Squ. Yes, and a greater honour than to be a 
Lord. Uncle, you would say so if you knew the 
records of Parnassus. I have taken the degree of 
ass already. 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 279 

Aid. Ass ! Poets are the wittiest men of our 
nation ; then what relation can an ass have to a 
poet, blockhead? 

Squ. Oh, uncle, you would ha' blessed yourself 
to ha' seen me pass the grand ceremony of an ass. 
First, I kneeled in my shirt, then all these gentle- 
men, according to the rules of Parnassus, threw a 
hundred bumpers of claret in my face. 

Aid. Bumper ! Prithee, what's a bumper ? 

Squ. For shame, uncle ! Not know what a 
bumper is 1 Bumper is the Parnassus' word for a 
beer glass top full. 

Her. Oh, the learning of Parnassus exceeds all 
the Greek, Hebrew, Scotch, Welsh, and Irish in 
the world ! 

Aid, I find they make an ass of thee indeed. 

La. But you must know 'twas done by the laws 
of Parnassus, where the records of poetry are most 
sacredly kept. 

Aid. Records of Parnassus ! Prithee what place 
is Parnassus 1 

Squ, Tis a place of rest for the souls of the 
poets ; for you must know they never go to Heaven, 
but when they die their souls are condemned to 
Parnassus, there to sing madrigals, every one in 
praise of his own poetry, to all eternity. 

Aim, And that doubtless pleases them better 
than going to Heaven. 

Aid. But will abusing a man inspire him with 
wit 1 

Her. The ceremony without question will ; for 
never was boy so improved. 

Aid. But will his wit get him an estate, as mine 
has done? 

Her. Nay, by my faith, I cannot say that. 

Aid. Then a wit is a pitiful poor creature, and, 



280 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

I'll warrant you, one that will borrow money of 
his very father. I have more wit than a hundred 
of 'em. 

Squ. Ay, uncle, you got your wit out of eternal 
Hopkins. 

Aid. Come, let me see your master. 

Over. I am the person that honours your nephew 
so far as to make him my prentice. 

Aid. Honour him ! He honours thee, thou 
vainglorious poet ! But I do not blame thee, for 
'tis natural to you all. But come, Sir Poet, I'll 
try whether you're a poet or no. Break a jest 
quickly — quickly, without studying, sir ! 

Over. Hold, sir ; a jest is not so quickly at a 
poet's command. 

Aid. Then you're a dull, insipid poet, and will 
never go to Parnassus. To tell you true, I like 
not your profession, therefore I'll buy the boy's 
time out. I'll give you a hundred pound that 
you may take some lawful calling ; for poets and 
players are never useful but of a Lord Mayor's 
day, when they're mounted on a pageant. 

Bow. What think you of the authority of the 
nation that allows them 1 

Aid. For all that, we citizens are always of our 
own opinion. And I say again, poets and players 
are never useful but when a king is crowned, or a 
lord mayor is chosen ; and 'tis the opinion of the 
court of aldermen, and I'll stand in it. [Exeunt. 

Scene hi. 

Enter Lord Arminger and Mariana. 

Mar. I am here by promise, to give your Lord- 
ship reasons why you and I must never marry. 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 2 8 1 

And prepare yourself, for I've a story ; blood and 
horror are the least things in't. 

Ann. Bless me ! it startles all my spirits to hear 
sweet innocence talk of blood. You must be 
virtuous ; such sweetness cannot deceive. 

Mar. My Lord, I am false, — a lewd impostor, 
and not the heiress whom you came to marry. 

Arm. How? You have not left me sense 
enough to wonder ! My blood wants motion, and 
life is stealing from me, and not sensible. Speak 
again, for 'tis impossible you should e'er be 
wicked. 

Mar. I am not the heiress, but Sir Marmaduke 
Seldin's own daughter ; and the true heiresses, my 
dear and lovely kinswomen, are — : — 

Arm. Are what? Where 1 Speak I 

Mar. Murdered ! What opinion have you of 
my virtue now, my Lord ? 

Arm. I rather fear your senses than your virtue 
yet. Some wild extravagancy hath seized your 
parts, and made your tongue strike false. Such 
a Heavenly fabric cannot be tenanted with devils. 
Therefore deliver truth, in short, and let me be at 
ease. 

Mar. Our cruel father forced our consents to 
that more cruel murder ; and had we refused, we 
had infallibly met our own deaths. 

Arm. Hold ! My heart has met so violent a 
storm, 'twill overset. I bear a weight of grief 
heavier than Atlas' burden. Pray you, speak of 
something else ; my ears are filled with so much 
wickedness, they have no room for more. Pray 
you, speak the rest as softly as you can. 

Mar. Then thus, my Lord. Having met my 
father in all his bloody purposes 

Arm. Bless me ! how unconcerned she talks of 



282 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

blood ! Her tongue persuades one way and her 
Heavenly form another. 

Mar. But the contrivance of their deaths so 
infinitely surprised and pleased my father, that he 
trusted our engines with the bloody deed. 

Arm. Bless me ! how my opinion comes and 
goes ! You seem to rejoice, madam. 

Mar. Then hear me, sir. My own servant, 
having a seaman to her lover, hired a ship to carry 
them to the north of Norway, and there to set the 
innocent ashore where none but the merciless 
inhabit ; and, being shipped, my jealous father 
saw them under sail below the Hope, and then 
returned well satisfied. But our servants, by our 
order, the next tide brought 'em back ; and here, I 
thank Heaven, they are safe, and have escaped the 
wicked purpose of my father. 

Arm. I thank Heaven too, both for your virtuous 
actand their preservation. Howglorious doyou now 
appear ! You shine so bright, your dazzling virtues 
hurt my tender sight. I dare not gaze too much. 

Mar. My Lord, preserve your fine managed 
tongue for the lovely beauty that deserves it. 
You came to court the true heiress, and fate has 
purposely preserved her for you. 

Enter Lydia. 

Lyd. Oh, my sweet, dear lady, your cousins will 
receive you with such joy, I fear an ecstasy will 
follow. I'll call them presently. 

Mar. Now you shall behold a beauty worthy of 
the Lord Arminger, whose parts and fortune 
parallel yours. But had she no wealth, and were 
as low as poor Mariana, the power of her beauty 
would humble the proudest of Monarchs, and make 
him stoop to court her. 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 283 

Arm. Had she all this beauty, and the world's 
treasure in her own exchequer, she could no more 
tempt me to love her than she could tempt the 
dead. A marble statue her beauty may give life 
and motion to, force it to weep and tell its 
amorous passion, make it die for love, and so turn 
statue again. All this, I think, is in the power of 
love, and yet it cannot work a change in me : my 
heart is linked so firmly to your virtues, magic 
cannot break the chain. 

Enter Belmaria, Innocentia, Fidelia, Lydia, 
and Seaman. 

Mar. Oh, my dear and lovely Belmaria ! My 
pretty Innocentia ! 

Fid. We have embraced and kissed already, 
sister; wept for joy, and given thanks. Not so 
much as my ungodly seaman, old Captain Ham- 
mock, but has rendered thanks to see us together 



-» v 



again. 

Bel. Oh, you dear preservers ! How shall we 
reward your virtues 1 How shall we proclaim the 
honour due to your merits] 'Tis fit the world 
should know that Heaven reigns in women. 

Fid. Ay, but the wicked world will hardly 
believe it. 

Inn. Oh, let me kiss, and clip,* and hug thee ! 
Oh, thou's my goodly cousin ; thou wad not let us 
be murdered, honey ; no more wad thou, thou 
pratty creature thou. 

Fid. Sister, whilst we rejoice to see each other, 
we lose ourselves in neglecting of my Lord. 

Mar. My Lord, most earnestly I crave your 
pardon. 

Arm. This precious love you show each other 

* Embrace. 



284 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

requires my praise and wonder, not my pardon. 
Your servant, madam ; yours, lovely Innocentia. 

Inn. What pratty words he said to me, cousin ! 

Bel. We ought to rejoice at the sight of these 
miracles, these cherubins ; for such virtue, my 
Lord, deserves such heavenly attributes. 

Arm. Madam, you cannot say enough ; they are 
angels, only wrapped up in mortality, disguised in 
lovely flesh and blood, to show the world what 
blessed creatures the whole sex of womankind 
were meant. 

Inn. Now, wae's me, cousin, that my tongue 
could but tattle as prattily as this deft * lord's does ! 

Bel. My Lord, we intend equally to divide our 
fortunes with them ; to be less grateful would 
render us unworthy of our lives, which they so 
virtuously have preserved. 

Inn. Marra, sister, my cousin shall have half of 
everything I have ! Thou'st have half my portion ; 
nay, by my conscience, thou'st have half my hus- 
band when I have him ! 

Fid. But, cousin, suppose this brave Lord were 
your husband, would you let me have half of 
him? 

Inn. Now, by my saul, I think I should not. 
A wattanerin t he's too pratty a man to part with, 
cousin. 

Arm. Lovety, sweet Innocence ! I thank your 
kind opinion, madam. 

Mar. Good Belmaria, did you say half your 
portions 1 My Lord, have they not brave and 
generous souls 1 Does it not add to their beauties, 
and make them look more lovely ? Speak, my Lord. 

Arm. With great astonishment I admire their 

* Neat, dexterous. Still in use in the north. 
f Qy. I am of opinion. 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 285 

offer. The worst of men must needs adore such 
gratitude. 

Mar. And the best of men despise us, should we 
accept the offer. 

Arm. It was my fear you would, when you so 
highly extolled their generosity. 

Mar. My Lord, if we have done good, the deed 
rewards itself. Virtue's a free gift from above, 
and to be bought and sold no more than Heaven. 

Fid. Virtue was never mercenary yet ; and if it 
should, my Lord, we have not such a stock as to 
sell it out by retail. 

Bel. This is obstinacy, not honour, to refuse a 
friendship justly due to you. You'd make us 
ungrateful to raise yourselves a fame. 

Inn. Let this deft honey Lord be judge now. 
They saved us fra being devoured by wild bears, 
honey Lord ; then should not we give them half we 
have, thou pratty man, thou 1 

Fid. Dispute this no more, but come to the 
point. I present your Lordship with the real 
heiress; my sister was but a false ninepin put 
upon you. 

Mar. 'Tis true, my Lord, this is your true prize, 
and worthy of your greatness. 

Bel. Hold, cousin ! Shall I be offered up to one 
that may refuse me 1 That would be a stain to 
my honour never to be cleared. 

Inn. Marra, wad, to the Lord of Heaven, they 
wad all say so ! Then I hope at last he wad come 
to be my sweet honey husband. 

Mar. We are now to think of safety, for home 
we must not go ; therefore we beg your Lordship 
to take us into your protection. 

Omnes. We all desire that favour, my Lord. 

Inn. Favour ! marra, it's e'en a blessing ! And, 



286 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

good honey sister, let's ne'er go fra this pratty 
Lord whilst we live. 

Arm. I receive you, ladies, with such care as 
tender mothers take of infants ; and if my honour, 
life, and fortune can preserve you from your 
father's cruelty, you are safe. 

Sea. Your safety lies in securing your father, 
madam. Bring him to public justice, and then 
you're safe. 

Mar. Oh, say that no more ! My Lord and Bel- 
maria, you have milder tempers. We have pre- 
served your lives, and to publish my father's 
shame were to murder us. 

Fid. The ill he meant you see is mercifully 
prevented ; how ungrateful, then, would you all 
appear to us ! But thy nature, like thy horrid 
aspect, is all rough and furred. Thy love to her is 
furred all over like a sick man's tongue, so that 
love in thee is a perfect fever ; and when thou'rt 
well, it is no longer love, but turns again to brutish 
seaman. 

Arm. What way can you propose to secure 
yourselves, and conceal your father's shame, 
ladies 1 

Mar. If we could find a way to bring him to 
repentance. 

Bel. Ay, dear cousin, that were a blessed work 
indeed ; we could all wish that ; but how ? 

Mar. Why, thus. Your Lordship, we desire to 
get my father hither, and tell him we are fallen 
desperately ill — indeed, distracted. Say something 
has appeared to us and frighted us ; and desire him 
to come with all speed, lest we die before he has a 
sight of us. 

Fid. Very good ! My two cousins, Lydia, and 
her seaman, shall appear at that window like 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 287 

ghosts, call him bloody murderer, bid him repent, 
and so vanish. 

Mar. That must shake his spirits, being guilty 
and, I hope, may work upon his hardened heart. 

Arm. We all hope that. I much approve of 
this contrivance, and, if you please, I'll instantly 
about it. 

Bel. My Lord, we shall for ever own the obliga- 
tion. 

Inn. Good honey Lord, take heed my naughty 
n uncle do not kill you now. 

Arm. Sweet lovely Innocentia, I thank you. 
Your faithful servant, ladies. [Exit Arming er. 

Inn. Faithful to us all] Marra, I'se sure I'st 
have the least share of you, then. 

Bel. Come, dear Mariana; this trial, I hope 
will bring your poor father to an humble peni- 
tence. 

Mar. It is the only blessing upon earth my soul 
prays for. 

'Fid. I hope for something else upon earth before 
I die, sister. 

(Mimes. We shall all rejoice to see you both 
enjoy your wishes. [Exeunt. 



Act v.— Scene i. 

Enter Buffoon, Bowman, and Laton. 

La. Oh, Sir Hercules, there's rods in piss for 
you, i' faith. My uncle is so incensed against 
thee for putting that damned joke of Whetstone's 
Park upon him, that he resolves to have the whole 
nation searched, but he will have thee. 



288 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

Her. I thought a deer out of Whetstone's Park 
had been welcomer to him than all the venison 
i' th' world. How came he to know it 1 

Bow. Why, it seems he inquired of some of his 
brother lawyers whereabout in Middlesex a place 
called Whetstone's Park stood, and withal told 
'em he had bargained for two brace of deer yearly 
out on't during his life. 

La, Upon that they all fell a-laughing at him 
ready to split, and told him it was a park of 
bawdy-houses ; which made him fall into so great 
a rage, that he has sent his clerk, constables, and 
devil, and all to search for thee. 

Her. Why, you know, 'twas Sir Thomas Lovill 
with the wooden leg that put Whetstone's Park 
upon him. I'll go to him, as I am Sir Hercules, 
and bid him produce his lame knave, Sir Thomas 
Lovill. Hast thou the deed of thy father's estate, 
man 1 

La. I have it, old boy. He was so pleased that 
I fought with thee in the defence of his reputa- 
tion, that he gave me the deed presently ; and the 
lawyers assure me that it is as firm a deed as ever 
yet was made. 

Her. Then never fear me ; I'll get off well 
enough, I'll warrant you. 

La. I'll own the whole to him. Come, we'll 
contrive it as we go. [Exeunt. 



Scene ii. 

Enter Lord Arminger and Guardian. 

Arm. Sir Marmaduke, I have something to 
impart to you ; but you being subject to violent 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 289 

passions, I am not willing to communicate such 
unwelcome news to you. 

Sel. My Lord, to show the dear respect I bear 
you, passion shall be my slave for once. I'll stop 
his violent source, and yoke him to humility. 
Therefore, let me know the worst of ill my cruel 
fate has destined. 

Arm. In short, your nieces are fallen desperately 
ill. 

Sel. Is that all, my Lord ? If they be sick, we 
will have a doctor. 

Arm. Xot sick, but worse. A ghastly fear and 
trembling has possessed them. Something appears 
to 'em and frights 'em ; for they ran to me and 
cried, Save us, save us ! and asked me if I saw 
nothing, and pointed with their fingers, crying 
aloud, There they are ! there they are ! Have they 
ever had such fits before 1 

Sel. Often, my Lord, often. Ever, when they 
dream of hobgoblins, the next day they run to me 
for shelter. Damn 'em, their base womanish fear 
will destroy their glorious preferment. 

Arm, Their desperate fits would make me think 
'em guilty of murder, but for my full persuasion 
of their sweet and blessed innocence ; and what 
unspeakable comfort it is to be innocent ! What 
say you, sir? 

Sel. Yes, it is a fine childish comfort. For to 
be innocent is to be ignorant ; to be ignorant is to 
know nothing ; and they that know nothing are 
unworthy to be reckoned of the race of man. 
And that is my opinion of innocence, my Lord. 

Arm, I am troubled to hear this; it is no re- 
ligious answer. 

Sel. It was no religious question. I would see 
my nieces ; are they here, my Lord 1 
T 



290 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 



Arm. Yes, they are here, bloody villain ! I'll 
fetch those blessed innocents, which by thy vir- 



[Ghost above. 
a foolish scare- 

What is't you 



I 



as 



tuous daughters were preserved. 

Sel, Ha, ha ! What ! thou art 
crow called a ghost, art thou not 1 

Arm. Who is't you speak tol 
see 1 

Sel. Nothing. I speak to nothing; 
nothing. Do you, my Lord 1 

Arm. No, sir ; but such distracted starts 
those your nieces had. 

Sel. Then, good my Lord, withdraw. In short, 
the devil and I have conference once a week, and 
now's the time. 

Arm. I'll fetch your nieces ; their virtues may 
fright your devil away. [Exit Arminger. 

Sel. Now, thou venomous serpent clad in 
ghostly white, come down, that I may kill thee 
over again, and so have thee doubly damned. 

Sea. Thou canst not, fool, hurt me ; I am an airy 
spirit. 

Sel. Come down, and I'll knead and mould thy 
airy spirit into substance, that I may tear it into 
air again. What art thou ? 

Sea. A damned soul of thy preferring. Despatch 
and die ! The devils are stark mad in hell that 
thou art so long on earth ; therefore make haste, 
they want thee. 

Sel. If the devil wants me, let him if he dares 
come fetch me. I dare him and his whole host of 
furies. Bring Proserpine, his wife, and in spite of 
all his guards, I'll keep her here on earth, and 
make Prince Pluto my cuckold. And what a 
shame 'twould be to hell to have it said, Miss 
Proserpine is kept ! 

Sea. Cease thy madness, fool ! I am that 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 291 

seaman who undertook the bloody murder of thy 
nieces, but was prevented by being all drowned at 
sea. 

Sel. Drowned ! Art thou sure of it ? 

Sea-. Too sure. 

Sel. Then take notice, I am their heir-at-law ! 
Come down, sweet ghost, and let me kiss thee ; 
for never did spirit bring such blessed news ! 

Bel. [Entering above] wicked uncle, repent. 

Inn. Repent, for thou's my naughty nuncle. 

Sel. What ! a Yorkshire ghost with Innocentia ? 
What northern devil is thy guardian now ? 

Sea. Since thou canst not, wretched man, repent, 
behold us all in flesh and blood, and clad in pure 
innocence. 

Sel. Alive, all alive '? Oh, happy hour ! Ob, 
blessed minute ! Come, come down, dear nieces, 
and behold your poor uncle rejoicing in his tears 
to find you all thus secretly preserved. What 
saint was't that saved you 1 

Bel. Your virtuous children. So we come, good 
uncle. 

Inn. Take heed thou dissemble not, good nuncle. 

[Exeunt above. 

Sel. My own daughters betray me ? I that 
thought my subtlety above the reach of devils, by 
children to be deluded ! Oh, damn 'em ! How like 
innocent truth their words fell from 'em, and I an 
infatuated fool believed. 

Enter Lord Arminger, Fidelia, Belmaria, 
Innocentia, Lydia, and Seaman. 

Arm. Sir Marmaduke, I take you in my arms, 
and am o'erjoyed to see such penitential tears flow 
from you. 

Sel. Oh, my Lord, I find my children have made 



292 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

known my wicked purpose; and my shame con- 
founds me so, I dare not look upon your virtuous 
figure. Oh, let me see my Heavenly babes! 

Mar. Here, dear father, let us for ever kneel, 
and for evermore thank Heaven for this your 
blessed conversion. 

Fid. Oh, dear sir, what comfort 'tis to see you 
satisfied that these are safe ! 

Sel. A blessed comfort indeed ! They are saints, 
my Lord, too good to dwell on earth, and therefore 
shall to Heaven — thus, ye devils ! 

[Stabs Mariana ; Lord Arminger and Sea- 
man disarm him. 

Arm. Hold, thou cursed wretch ! Take his 
sword from's side, whilst I disarm him of his 
dagger. 

Fid. Run, run for surgeons ! let all the house- 
hold run ! 

Arm. Household? Employ the whole world 
for surgeons, and let all the business of the eartli 
stand still till Mariana be recovered ! 

Mar. Have mercy on my distressed father, my 
Lord. 

Sel. A curse on thee for a religious jilt ! 

Arm. What can he now expect but public 
justice 1 for all the records of hell cannot produce 
such wickedness as is in thee. But, for Mariana's 
sake, yet repent, and all shall be forgot. 

Sel. Repent ! Seaman, that Lord's turned fool. 
Did quality ever trouble itself with repentance 
before 1 it lies not in the road of greatness. Fetch 
me the devil, and I'll thank you. I have revenge- 
ful work for him and his whole tribe. Give me 
my sword. 

Sea. You are in no condition to be trusted with 
a sword, sir. 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 293 

Sel. Lord, of all mankind trust not that trea- 
cherous slave. He once seemed to me the bravest 
and the bloodiest villain that ever man or devil 
employed ; and the false dog turned tail, proved 
honest, and betrayed me. My children, too, 
proved false. Who would stay in this wicked 
world ? I and my damned issue will out on 't. 
To see them fry in torments would please me 
better than to be a Monarch. 

Arm. Thou wretch, think of thy soul, and then 
repent. 

Sel. I cannot. Eevenge allows no time to think 
of souls. The heralds know everything takes 
place of penitence ; that comes sneaking behind, 
and is allowed no place of honour. But vengeance 
rides i' th' front o' th' battle, and I his right hand 
man. Therefore this tongue shall never utter any 
words but vengeance, furies, and torments ; tor- 
ments, furies, and vengeance. Revenge, devils, 
revenge ! [Exit Seldin. 

Arm. What an example of desperation's here ! 
Pray you, sir, be careful of him till I send Mini- 
sters to comfort him. I wonder so wicked a man 
should have such virtuous children. [Exeunt. 



Scene hi. 

Enter Judge and Clerk at one door ; Bowman, 
Laton, Buffoon, and Squire at another. 

La. Clerk, take heed, be sure you be true to us. 

Clerk. I'll stick as close to you as your shirt, sir. 

Her. Save you, my Lord ! I understand one 
Lovill, a rogue with one eye and a wooden leg, 
has informed you that I have with most reproach- 



294 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

ful and ignominious words bespattered your Judge- 
ship. 

Jud. Oho ! then it seems you are Sir Hercules 
Buffoon, that have, as you call it, bespattered me. 
Write a warrant, clerk. I'll clap you up, and clap 
an action of ten thousand pounds upon you for 
scandal, sir. 

Squ. That will be a damned clap indeed. Clap 
him up, and clap an action ? This Judge talks 
of nothing but claps; I believe he knows Whet- 
stone's Park better than I do. 

Her. Clap me up 1 I scorn your words, my 
Lord. Bring that villain Lovill to my face to 
justify his words, if he dare. 

Jud. I am afraid, clerk, he dares not come, 
because of the roguish bargain he put upon me, of 
two brace of deer out of Whetstone's Park, — it 
seems a park of bawdy-houses. Rogue ! rogue ! 

Squ. My Lord, I'll take that bargain off your 
hands. I'll give you two brace of fallow deer for 
your two brace of Whetstone. 

Jud. Yours is such another park as Whetstone, 
I suppose. But for Lovill, I'll clap him up in a 
jail, where he shall never come out. 

Squ. Another clap 1 This old fellow has been a 
swinger in's days. 

Her. He's a shirking knave, and no Knight, my 
Lord ! 

Jud. How came he to be called so, then 1 

Bow. In the time of the civil wars he found 
friends, it seems, to get a blank warrant for a 
Baronet, and not finding a good customer for it, he 
saucily bestowed the honour upon himself. 

Jud. He is the first subject that ever made him- 
self a Knight. 

Her. Not by some few, my Lord. But I am 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 295 

told you threaten to undo me, for which I'll clap 
an action of the case upon you, my Lord. 

Squ. Then there will be clap for your clap, and 
the stone in your foot still, my lord. 

Jud. If I find this Lovill, I'll purge your ill 
manners for you. 

Her. The rogue's oath will not be taken ; he has 
been Knight of the post these twenty years. 
There came in his Knighthood ; 'tis his trade, he 
has nothing else to live on. 

Jud. Did you ever hear two men rail at one 
another thus, sir ? 

Bow. I think the like was never known, my 
Lord. 

Jud. Well, till Lovill be found, I'll secure you, 
sir. 

Her. I defy both law and lawyer^ for I have a 
protection. 

Jud. A protection 1 I believe the devil voids 
protections faster than children void worms. Let 
me see it, sir. 

Her. I have it not yet ; but if you'll call for a 
pen and ink, I'll write myself one presently. 

Jud. This fellow seems to be some jester rather 
than a Knight. 

Bow. He may be a jester, and yet a Knight too. 

Jud. But hold, clerk, was not this gentleman 
here with Sir Thomas Lovill 1 

Bow. My Lord, I was not here. I have a twin 
brother, indeed, very like me ; I suppose it might 
be. him. 

Jud. That may be ; but I am certain this young 
Squire was here, and said he was Lovill's son. 

Squ. My Lord, I was not here. I have a twin 
brother, indeed, very like me ; I suppose it might 
be him. 



29G SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

Jud. This fellow's a fool, and not a Squire, 
sure. 

Squ. My Lord, a fool and a Squire are twins 
too ; you'll scarce know one from the other. 

Jud. Clerk, sure this is Sir Thomas Lovill's son. 

Squ. I had rather be thought the son of a whore. 
Lovill's a rogue that deals with pickpockets, and 
can help people to stolen goods again. 

Bow. This is you all this while, Knight. 

Jud. You all deny the truth. Sir Buffoon, 
you'll deny, too, that my nephew cudgelled you 1 

Her. I scorn to be cudgelled. I confess he 
caned me, indeed, and he kicked me so that my 
haunches look as black as Westphalia ham, or the 
traitors' quarters upon the city gates. 

La. Upon my word, my Lord, I never caned nor 
kicked him, nor did I ever in my life see the man 
before this day. 

Jud. Did you not beat him, then, for abusing me 
so grossly ? 

La. No, my Lord. 

Jud. Then give me my deed again, sirrah. 

La. No, my Lord. 

Jud. Why did you own, you base fellow, that 
you were caned and kicked % 

Her. Because, my Lord, I take delight in lying ; 
'tis my darling virtue. I love it better than you 
love Whetstone venison, my Lord. 

Jud. You rascal, I'll have you cudgelled because 
you scorn it. 

Bow. Oh, my Lord, exercise your patience and 
take some other course. 

Jud. Then I suppose that you, sirrah, hired that 
rogue Lovill to tell me stories of your valour, to 
wheedle me out of my estate. 

La. I did so, my Lord. 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 297 

Jud. You impudent fellow ! hast thou the face 
to justify it 3 

La. Yes, my Lord. 

Jud. And this ridiculous Squire is Lovill, that 
rascal's son 1 

Squ. Yes, my Lord ; and I am this Knight's son 
too, my Lord. 

Jud. You abominable fool, how can that be 1 

Bow. Because, my Lord, Sir Hercules disguised 
himself with a black patch and a wooden leg, a 
purpose to put this trick upon you. 

Jud. Clerk, bear witness, here are two Knights 
found in one person, both confessing each other to 
be notorious rogues. Here's a pillory in the case, 
besides whipping in abundance. 

Her. You have done well. Ouns ! what have 
you brought me to 1 

Jud. The misfortune is that these two Knights 
have but one back to bear all the whipping due to 
'em both. 

Her. I defy your whipping ! Pull off my coat. 
Look you here, sir ; I am the court fool, and here's 
my fool's coat to protect me. 

Jud. Death ! Had ever lawyer so man}' tricks 
put upon him % Cheated of my office, my estate ! 
and not content with that, but thus grossly to 
abuse me too 1 

La. Your conscience knows you cozened my 
father grossly, and I have got it again by a trick ; 
so there's trick for your trick, and the stone in your 
foot still. 

Jud. I think there's a flaw in the deed ; if there 
be, villain, I'll make thee the wretchedest beggar 
in the nation. 

Bow. We have been with counsel, and they say 
it is the firmest deed that ever yet was drawn ; so 



298 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

that you have the credit of being the best convey- 
ancer of all the town. 

Jud. Then am I the first man that ever was 
undone by being too good a lawyer. But I'll find 
some other way to destroy thee, thou accursed 
villain ! [Exeunt Judge and Clerk. 

Squ. As angry as you are, I expect my bargain 
of Whetstone's Park, my Lord. 

Her. Now, boys, let's to the tavern ! eat, drink, 
and rejoice ; for Dagon the law is beaten down, and 
shall be no longer worshipped. [Exeunt. 



Scene iv. 
Enter Fidelia and Innocentia. 

Fid. How do you, my dear Innocentia? My 
soul mourns to hear you say you're sick, child. 

Inn. Prithee, cousin, do not call me child. By 
my saul, I have woman's thoughts in me ; my head 
aches so it plays riveskin with me. Wae's me, my 
heart gripes me too ! 

Fid. You mistake, jewel ; 'tis the belly that 
gripes, not the heart. 

Inn. Nay, God waite, it's e'en my heart that is 
it. I can do nought but think of that pratty Lord, 
cousin ; then my heart gripes me so that I'se e'en 
ready to be dead. What means that 1 hast thou 
any skill to tell me, cousin 1 

Fid. Alas ! my dear cousin, I doubt you are in 
love. 

Inn. Now, wae's me, I'se quite undone then. 
Thou knows, cousin, that sweet honey Lord kissed 
my hand e'en now, and he kissed it so prattily 
that I have kissed it a thousand times since, be- 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 299 

cause that pratty Lord kissed it ; and is that love, 
thinkest thou, cousin % 

Fid. Ay, and desperate love too. Shall I tell 
him how you love him, cousin 1 

Inn. Ay, and e'en God's benison and mine light 
on thee for it ; but I doubt, cousin, thou'll speak 
ean word for me, and twea for thyself. 

Fid. Oh fie, cousin ! do not think I am so trea- 
cherous. 

Inn. By my saul, I'se sure I should serve thee 
sea. 

Fid. Poor, sweet jewel, I pity thee exceedingly ! 

Enter Lord Arminger. 

Arm. Oh, Fidelia, rejoice ! your sister's wound 
proves but a scratch. All danger's past ; she's 
dressed and coming forth. 

Fid. I heartily rejoice. But, my Lord, this 
sweet creature is so in love with your Lordship, 
that if you be not civil to her, I really think 'twill 
kill her. 

Arm. Heaven forbid, pretty lady ! Be assured 
I pay you my respects with all the love my honour 
can give way to. 

Inn. Let me but once a day look at thy pratty 
face, and then kiss my hand for me, thou deft 
pratty man, and that's all the blessing I desire in 
the warld. 

Enter Mariana. 

Arm. Assure yourself of those and thousands 
more. But behold your sweet sister. Oh, my dear 
Mariana, Providence, I hope, has lent you life, to 
make mine easy to me. 

Mar. Stop there, my Lord. Made not you a 



300 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

contract with my father to marry Belmaria, the 
eldest heiress % 

Arm. I grant I did so, madam. 

Mar. And was not I without a fortune falsely 
put upon you] Did you not court me as Bel- 
maria, and truly love me as Belmaria % 

Arm. Your father's dagger is in every word 
you've spoke, and has not scratched, but wounded. 

Inn. Now, wae's me ! my pratty Lord's in love 
Avith thy sister, cousin. 

Arm. Mariana, you accuse me as if I had broke 
my faith ! By Heaven, I never yet was false ! 

Mar. You will be, if you persist in a love 
sprung from a false foundation. You made love 
to an impostor, a false woman ; and now you know 
the cheat, are you so weak to think your honour 
is engaged to make that courtship good to that 
impostor 1 

Arm. An impostor is the welcomest blessing 
upon earth to me, if it appear in your lovely 
figure. 

Inn. Now, by my saul, he's more in love with 
her than I'se with him, waes me 1 

Mar. I believe, my Lord, you truly love me, and 
that's my only curse. 

Inn. Ten thousand sike curses fall on me ! they 
would be my best blessings, cousin. 

Mar. When I consider how falsely — how by a 
trick you came to love me, I must in honour pro- 
nounce my own doom, and say I'll never marry. 

Inn. God in Heaven keep her ever in that 
mind ! 

Mar. The wrong else to Belmaria would look 
as if we saved her from one murder to execute a 
worse upon her. 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 301 

Enter Belmaria. 

Bel. Mariana, you nor your Lord have injured ; 
but had your father proved faithful, perhaps I had 
been your bride, my Lord. 

Inn. Wae's me, what shall I do 1 My sister's in 
love with him too ! Wad I had been devoured 
with wild bears. 

Mar. Had my father been faithful, Belmaria 
says you had been hers ; mark that, my Lord. 
Can you after this ever make court to me 1 My 
Lord, this heart and every drop of blood within it 
has more love for you than Dido quitted life for ; 
yet all this can I conquer to be just, therefore 
must not in point of honour marry. — What strong 
arguments I use to destroy myself ! [Aside. 

Fid. I thank fate I am not in love's lime-twigs, 
for here's the devil and all to do. In point of 
honour, forsooth, one will not marry, and the other 
will not marry ; so that I find the punctilios of 
honour will destroy generation. And is't not pity 
such a Lord should die without leaving some of his 
brood behind him, cousin 1 

Inn. Ay, God he knows is it ! 

Arm. I know she loves me ; I'll try her with a 
small design. Mariana, I find your resolution 
fixed, and no persuasion can make you mine ; 
therefore I will take your advice, and apply myself 
to fair Belmaria ; so your servant, madam. Sweet 
Belmaria, now I address to you. 

Mar. Hold, hold ! I die, I die ! 

[Tliey run to her. 

Arm. Say you'll be my wife, and then I'll quit 
Belmaria. 

Mar. Anything rather than see that cruel sight 



302 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

Fid. Marry her presently, my Lord, lest honour 
get the upper hand again. 

Inn. Help, help ! my heart is broken quite in 
two. [Falls down. 

Fid. Alas, my sweet cousin ! Do you take her 
up, my Lord, and she'll do well again. 

Arm. How do you do, dear Innocentia % 

Inn. Is it the pratty Lord that comes to help 
me 1 Then I is varra well again. 

Mar. Then we are happjr, my Lord, and I am 
wholly yours. But how does my father all this 
while 1 

Arm, He desires to go into the country with 
two Ministers, who gave me great assurance of his 
conversion. We will marry, then, with all con- 
venient speed. 

Bel. I hope, my Lord, you'll be our guardian, 
and let us live together, and we are satisfied. 

Inn. And, good honey Lord, let us never part 
whilst we have one hour to live. 

Arm. By my life, we would not quit you for all 
the world's wealth ; and I'll make it my whole 
business to match you to honourable fortunes. 

Enter Alderman, Squire, Bowman, Laton, 
and Aimwell. 

Aid. With your leave, my Lord Arminger ! We 
hear Sir Marmaduke Seldin is distracted and 
dying, and that your Lordship is made guardian to 
the two heiresses ? 

Arm. The ladies are pleased to think me worthy 
of that trust, and I have undertaken it. 

Aid. The northern lady is to marry my nephew, 
my Lord. To that end Sir Marmaduke caused me 
to settle my estate entirely upon her ; the match 
is gone so far, my Lord. 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 303 

Squ. Nay, 'tis gone further with us young folks, 
for we have played at clapperdepouch together; 
therefore 'tis too late to break off the match. 

Inn. By my saul I never played at clapperde- 
pouch with thee. Did my nuncle mean to wad me 
to sike an a fool as thee 1 

Sqit. Why, this is not my clapperdepouch, uncle. 

Fid. Why, no ! I is thy clapperdepouch, honey. 

Squ. What the devil ! are there two clapperde- 
pouches 1 I am sure one must be false. 

Inn. I'se sure I'se the right Northern Heiress. 

Squ. Then thou art the false one, honey. I 
have heard of false dice and false ninepins ; but to 
have a false clapperdepouch put upon a man is 
more than ever I heard of. 

Aid. My Lord, I will not stand to this bargain, 
for my estate is settled upon the Northern Heiress. 

Arm. No, sir ; I have read the deed, and it is 
settled upon Fidelia Seldin. 

Aid. Then I am cozened, my Lord, and abused. 

Arm. Not so, sir ; 'twas your own voluntary act. 
Besides, I have married her sister, and I hope 
you'll think it no disparagement for me to call you 
uncle, and you me nephew, and to have your kins- 
man call me brother. 

Aid. My Lord, I shall take it for the greatest 
honour in the world. 

Squ. A much greater honour than our alliance 
with King Pippin ; and so I receive Fidelia Seldin 
for my wife. 

Aid. And I receive you, my Lord, as my nephew, 
and your lady as my niece. 

Enter Sir Hercules Buffoon and Overwise. 

Her. And I receive you as my son and daughter. 
By this match you honour us, as you are a noble 



304 SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 

Lord j and we honour you by making you a kins- 
man to King Pippin. 

Over. My Earl of honour, I have one project, the 
which, if your Lordship will countenance 

Arm. You know I was always your friend, and 
ever will be. 

Over. Then, my Earl, you must know my ancestor 
was the first inventor of shorthand, and you see of 
what use it is to the world ; but at first it was 
extremely laughed at, as, no doubt, my project 
will be. 

Bow. There is no question of it in the least. 

Arm. Pray you let me hear your project as 
briefly as you can. 

Over. Briefly 1 I find I am troublesome. I 
humbly refuse, then, my Lord. 

Aim. I would not give a doit to hear it. 

Over. My Lord, I humbly grieve that I have 
rudely refused. My project is this 

Arm. I will not hear it now, sir. 

Over. Then I pity you, my Lord. Young man, 
thou shalt hear it. 

Squ. By my faith but I will not. 

Over. Now, sir, it is my opinion that you sprung 
not from the loins of King Pippin. 

Her. Sir, do you affront the family of the 
Buffoons 1 

Squ. I'll affront, your coxcomb with Mahomet's 
own scimitar that cut off Orene's head. 

Over. My Lord, upon my honour that very 
scimitar hangs up now in Gresham College. 

Arm. Now, sir, I'll hear your project, for your 
scimitar's sake at Gresham College. 

Over. My Lord, you all know the world now 
writes shorthand ; and my project is that, which I 
am, I confess, really fond of. 



SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 305 

Bow. That's more than any one else will be, I 
doubt. Well, what is it 1 

Over. Sir, I communicate only to my Lord. 
Ladies, you may hear if you please. My project 
is, ladies ; well, I value myself extremely upon it. 

Inn. Marra, the devil ha ma gin this be not a 
worse fool than thy clapperdepouch cousin. 

Over. Well, in short, as all the world writes 
shorthand, so I would teach all the world to speak 
shorthand, and by an Act of Parliament have it 
called the shorthand tongue. 

La. Speak shorthand, and have it called the 
shorthand tongue % Jack Adams * for that ! Ha, 
ha, ha ! 

Omnes. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

Over. Did not I beforehand tell your Lordship I 
should be laughed at % 

Arm. You did so indeed, most prophetically. 

Over. Nevertheless, my Lord, I shall proceed ; for 
I have really computed that a long-winded Mini- 
ster shall preach a sermon in the shorthand tongue 
in as little time as a horse shall run a four miles' 
course, and that is exactly seven minutes, madam. 

Omnes. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

Bow. Why do you laugh, gentlemen 1 I think 
'twould be great service to the nation to have a 
sermon preached in seven minutes. 

Aim. Then sermons would not be tedious, nor 
people would not sleep at church. 

Her. Nor would they have time to make love 
there, as I have done often. 

Squ. Nor would Sunday pies be burnt in the 
oven, nor meat over-roasted ; nor would farmers 
have time to make bargains at church. 

* Astrological Professor of Clerkenwell, of whom there is a 
portrait, now very rare. 

U 



306 SIR HER£ULES BUFFOON. 

Over. Eight, sir. I will undertake to make the 
merchants of the 'Change and lawyers at the bar 
plead all their business in the shorthand tongue ; 
nay, and the Judges shall give sentence in the 
shorthand tongue. 

Squ. And men shall be hanged in shorthand 
ropes, and then they will feel no pain. 

Over. Eight. And what ease would it be to the 
world to have all the whole business of a day done 
in seven minutes ! 

Squ. Then should we have all the rest of the day 
to be drunk in. 

La. I believe thou speak'st shorthand already, 
Squire ; for always when thou'rt drunk thou 
put'st twelve words into one. 

Squ. That is not shorthand ; 'tis called clipping 
the King's English. I hope, sir, you'll teach women 
to scold in shorthand, tongue, and that would be 
great service to the nation. 

Bow. Good my Lord, let us laugh this insuffer- 
able shorthand fool quite out of the land. 

Omnes. The. shorthand tongue! Ha, ha, ha! 
away, fool, away ! 

Over. I'll make you all fools with one philo- 
sophical question. Tell me whether at the great 
or the small end of a spider's egg does nature 
make production ? 

La. Thou art the product of an ass, I'm sure. 

Squ. Pray you, sir, let me ask you one question. 
Is your name Overwise or Otherwise 1 

Over. It is not proper for me to say I'll quarrel 
with you ; but, sir, I'll make a cessation of friend- 
ship with you, and so draw upon you. 

Bow. Hold, hold ! put up, put up ! Away, 
shorthand ass ! 

Over. Well, I pity all fools; from the gentle- 






SIR HERCULES BUFFOON. 307 

man to the lord and lady fools ; and so I take my 
leave. [Exit Overwise. 

Squ. I hope you'll take your leave in the short- 
hand tongue. 

Aim. My Lord, we hope you will befriend us so 
far as to admit us suitors to these heiresses. 

Arm. Gentlemen, were I not concerned, I would 
serve you frankly ; but being their guardian, were 
you my brothers I would not betray my trust, but 
will match them to men of such honour and 
wealth as shall deserve their fortunes ; and this 
resolution you cannot take unkindly. 

La. So, my good Lord, your answer has fully 
satisfied us. 

Bel. What a noble Lord is this, cousin! 

Mar. Come, pretty cousin, Til give you half I 
have now ; nay, Til give you half my husband. 

Inn. Thank you, honey cousin ; but I'st be a 
little whore then, shall I not ? 

Mar. Xo, sweet cousin, I'll have a care of that. 

Fid. My Lord, we must see honest Captain 
Hammock here and his Miss well rewarded, and 
all's done. 

Arm. And it shall be done to their satisfaction. 



EPILOGUE. 

Wrote and spoke by J. H. Com. 

Methinks, right worthy friends, you seem to sit 

As if you had all ta'en physic in the pit. 

When the play's done, your jaded fancies pall ; 

After enjoyment, thus 'tis with us all. 

You are 

Mere epicures in thinking ; and, in fine, 

As difficult to please in plays as wine. 

You've no true taste of either, judge at random, 

And cry, Be gustibus non disputandum. 

One's for Vin d'Hermitage, love's lofty inditing ; 

Another Old Hock, he a style that's biting ; 

Both hate Champagne, and damn soft natural 

writing. 
And some, forsooth, 

Love Rhenish wine and sugar, plays in metre ; 
Like dead wine, swallowing nonsense rhymes make 

sweeter. 
There's one's for a cup of Nantes, and he, 'tis odds, 
Like old Buffoon, loves plays that swinge the Gods. 
True English topers Racy Sack ne'er fail ; 
With such Ben Jonson's humming plays prevail ; 
Whilst some at tricks and grimace only fleer ; 
To such must noisy frothy farce appear ; 
These new Wits relish small smart bottle beer. 
French gouts, that mingle water with their wine, 
Cry, Ah de French song, gosoun, dat is ver' fine. 
Who never drink without a relishing bit ; 
Scapin, methinks, such sickly tastes might hit. 



EPILOGUE. 309 

Where w' entertain each squeamish nicer palate 
With sauce of dances, and with songs for salad. 
Since, then, 'tis so hard to please with choicest diet 
Our guests, wh' in wit and sense do daily riot ; 
Since wit is damned by those whom wits we call, 
As love that stands by love, by love does fall ; 
When fools, both good and bad, like whores, 

swallow all, — 
" I wish for your sakes the sham Wits o' th' nation 
" Would take to some honest, some thriving voca- 
tion. 
" The Wit of our feet, you see every night, 
" Says more to our purpose than all you can write. 
" Since things are thus carried, a Wit's such a tool, 
" He that makes the best plays does but best play 
the fool." 

A dreaded fool's your bully, 
A wealthy fool's your cit, 
A contented fool's your cully, 

But your fool of fools your wit. 
They all fool cit of 's wife, 

He fools them of their pelf ; 
But your Wit's so damned a fool, 
He only fools himself. 
Oh, Wits, then face about to sense ! Alas ! 
I know it by myself, a Wit's an ass. 
For, like you, in my time 
I've been foolish in rhyme ; 
But now so repent the nonsensical crime, 
I speak it in tears, which from me may seem oddly, 
Henceforth I'll grow wiser — damn wit, I'll be 

godly ! 
That when by new grace I have wiped off old 

stains, 
In time I may pass, not for Count, but Sir Haynes. 



SAUNY THE SCOT; 

OR, 

THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



Sauny the Scot; or, The Taming of the Shrew : A 
Comedy. As it is now acted at the Theatre- Royal. Written 
by J. Lacy, Servant to His Majesty, and never before 
printed. London : Printed and sold by E. Whitlock, near 
Stationers' Ball. 1698. 4to. 

lb. — As it is now acted at the Theatre Royal in Drury 
Lane, by Her Majesty's Company of Comedians. Written 
by John Lacy, Esq. 

Then I'll cry out, swell'd with Poetick Rage, 
'Tis I, John Lacy, have reformed your Stage. 

— Prol. to Rehearsal. 

London : Printed for R. Bragge, in Paternoster Row. 
1708. Uo. 



This piece, altered from Shakespeare's Taming of a Shrew, 
has been attributed to Lacy, and with all show of probability, 
inasmuch as internal evidence is strong in his favour. The 
language of Sauny, for instance, is closely allied to, if not 
identical with, that of the Yorkshire heiress in the comedy of 
Sir Hercules Buffoon, just preceding. It is not Scotch in 
its idiom or apparent pronunciation, but savours strongly 
of the meridian of Doncaster, Lacy's birthplace. Having 
some resemblance, some very remote resemblance, to Scotch, 
the difference between it and the reality at the time when 
the piece was first produced would not be detected in 
London ; and even at the present day a mongrel mixture 
of Scotch, Yorkshire, Somerset, and other provincial dialects, 
is, it is to be feared with consent of the Scotch residenters 
there, accepted on the London stage as the language spoken 
in one and all or any of these several places. As regards 
provincial patois, it is recorded by Aubrey that from Lacy 
" Ben Jonson tooke a note of his Yorkshire words and pro- 
verbs for his Tale of a Tub." Aubrey, however, more 
probably meant Jonson's Sad Shepherd, as the phrases 
introduced in the Tale of a Tub are not northern but 
western, while in the Sad Shepherd the Yorkshire phraseo- 
logy obtains. 

Although Langbaine evinces a partiality for Lacy, and 
Sauny the Scot was produced at the Theatre Eoyal on 
9th April 1667, he makes no mention of it whatever in 
his account of English Dramatic Poetry. Lacy himself 
acted "Sauny." The play was not printed until 1698, 
seventeen years after Lacy's death, but without the per- 
formers' names. It would seem to have been revived at 
that time to afford Bullock an opportunity of performing 
"Sauny." Geneste gives this further portion of the cast : — 
Petruchio, Powell ; Woodall, Johnson ; Winlove, Mills ; 
Tranio, Harland ; Geraldo, Thomas; Snatch-penny, Pinketh- 
man ; Jamie, Haines ; Margaret, the Shrew, Mrs. Verb- 
ruggen ; Biancha, Mrs. Cibber. 

Pepys thus notices its first production : — "9th April 1667. 
To the King's house, and there saw The Taming of a Shrew, 
which hath some very good pieces in it, but generally is but 
a mean play ; and the best part, ' Sauny, ' done by Lacy ; 



314 INTRODUCTORY NOTICE. 

and hath not half its life, by reason of the words, I suppose, 
not being understood, at least by me." 

In this alteration of Shakespeare's play, the dialogue is 
shortened and converted into prose, the scene is changed 
from Padua to London, Grumio is turned into Sauny, and 
the fifth act is almost altogether new. It was acted with 
success. Shakespeare's play was partially taken from the 
older comedy The Taming of a Shrew, and partly from 
The Supposes, a comedy by George Gascoigne. The subject 
has been frequently dealt with in other plays, and among 
the offshoots of Shakespeare's piece may be instanced The 
Cobbler of Preston, by Charles Johnson, again altered by 
Christopher Bullock, son of the actor who played " Sauny" 
in Lacy's version, and The Devil to Pay, by Jevon. 

In the old play Taming of a Shrew, on which Shakes- 
peare founded his comedy, the character called by him 
Grumio was named Sander, and probably from this cir- 
cumstance Lacy derived the idea of representing it under 
the garb of a Scotchman. The original play (1594) was 
reprinted for the Shakespeare Society in 1844, from the 
copy supposed to be unique in the library of the Duke of 
Devonshire. Stevens had previously reprinted the edition 
of 1607 of this play, in "six old plays, on which Shakes- 
peare founded his Measure for Measure, Comedy of Errors, 
Taming the Shrew, King John, King Henry IV. and King 
Henry V., King Lear." Lond. 1779. 8vo. 

The dedication "to the Eight Honourable the Earl of Brad- 
ford," which follows, is attached only to the edition of 1708, 
and apparently emanates from the publisher. Although not 
a great literary effort, it is worth while preserving. 

Francis Newport, the first Earl of Bradford, who obtained 
that honour in 1694 from William and Mary, was the eldest 
son and heir of Richard Newport, who for his loyalty was 
created by Charles I., in 1642, Lord Newport of High- 
Ercall. After the King's death, he having suffered much 
during the Civil War, retired to France, where he died in 
1650. Before the Restoration, Francis, the future earl, 
was appointed Comptroller and Treasurer of the Royal 
Household. He was created Viscount Newport of Bradford 
in 1675. He married Lady Diana Russell, daughter of 
Francis, Earl of Bedford, by whom he had five sons and 
four daughters, and died in 1708, when he was succeeded 
by his son Richard. All the honours became extinct upon 
the death of Thomas, the fifth and last earl, who died a 
lunatic on the 18th of April 1762. 



TO THE 

RIGHT HONOURABLE 

THE EARL OF BRADFORD. 



When, by this way of address, I gain an admission 
into your Lordship's honourable walls, the full 
view of that venerable brow I meet there, and all 
the radiant glories round it, demands the humblest 
bending knee from so bold an intruder. 

'Tis here I survey the bountiful smiles of the 
great and gracious Dispenser of blessings, in de- 
volving on so deserving a head so unbroken a 
chain of continued prosperity, through your Lord- 
ship's long and still unfinished race of honour. 

'Tis thus, through the various administrations of 
so many successive sovereign heads, the throne has 
ever found your Lordship a vigorous supporter; 
your country a faithful and unshaken patriot ; your 
altars a constant and zealous devotee ; your equals, 
the more exalted veins, a leading worthy among 
them ; whilst your Lordship has so signally dis- 
tinguished your conspicuous merits, that the elder 
heads of honour have all the reason in the world 
to pride themselves in so eminent a pattern of 
virtue, and the younger to copy from it. 

'Tis thus, my Lord, you have enjoyed a long 
blest life, — more a reward than gift, a donation 
more from the divine gratitude than favour. For 
true virtue is so much and so justly the darling 



316 THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY. 

of Heaven, that the blessings that fall on such a 
favourite head are not the random showers of Pro- 
vidence. 

Your Lordship's austere profession of piety has 
not the least tincture of bigotry ; for, as your Lord- 
ship has ever made it your care thoroughly to read 
the world, yet so equally have you divided the 
work of life, that in all the greatest load of private 
or public affairs your Lordship still never wanted 
leisure or application to the sublimer study of 
heaven. Tis from this you can equally taste the 
innocent blessings of this life, and yet at the same 
time make the wisest and securest provision for a 
richer feast in the next. 

Amongst these innocent enjoyments, your Lord- 
ship has ever had a particular relish to the diver- 
sions of the theatre ; and 'tis this consideration 
only has animated my presumption in making your 
Lordship this public presentation. And, as the 
offering I humbly make your Lordship is a piece 
that took its original from the celebrated pen of 
the famous Shakespeare, and afterwards received 
its finishing stroke from that ingenious comedian 
Mr. Lacy, and thereby has acquired the merit of 
appearing so often on the stage, handed down 
through so long an age, and even to continue its 
reputation to the present generation a still darling 
entertainment, — 'tis from hence alone it has arro- 
gated a little more boldness in laying itself at your 
Lordship's feet, by the hand of, 

My Lord, 

Your Lordship's most dutiful 

and most devoted Servant. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

1708. 

MEN. 

Lord Beaufoy, Father to) Mr K 

Margaret and Biancha, . j 

WOODAIJ. a rich old Citizen,] Mr . JoHNSON . 
courts Biancha, . . . ) 

Petritchio, the Tamer, . . Mr. Mills. 

Geraldo another Pretender to) m HusBANDS> 
Biancha, . . . .) 

Tranio, young Winlove's Servant, Mr. Fairbank. 

Sir Lyonel Winlove, a) Mp Crqss 
Country Gentleman, . .) 

Winlove, his Son, . . . Mr. Booth. 

Snatchpenny, a Town Sharper, Mr. Pack. 

Jamy, Servant to Winlove, . Mr. Norris. 

Sauny, Petruchio's Scotch Footman, Mr. Bullock. 

Curtis, Nick, Philip, and other Servants to Pet- 
ritchio. 

WOMEN. 

Margaret, the Shrew, . . Mrs. Bradshaw. 
Biancha, her Sister, . . Mrs. Mills. 
Widow. 

Scene : London. 



SAUNY THE SCOT; 

OR, 

THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



Act i. 
Enter Winlove and his man Tranio. 

Win. I am quite weary of the country life. 
There is that little thing the world calls quiet, but 
there is nothing else. Clowns live and die in't, 
whose souls lie hid here, and after death their 
names. My kinder stars, I thank 'em, have 
winged my spirit with an active fire, which makes 
me wish to know what men are born for. To diet 
a running horse, to give a hawk casting, to know 
dogs' names'? These make not men; no, 'tis 
philosophy, 'tis learning, and exercise of reason 
to know what's good and virtuous, and to break 
our stubborn and untempered wills to choose it. 
This makes us imitate that great Divinity that 
framed us. 

Tra. I thought you had learn'd Philosophy 
enough at Oxford. What betwixt Aristotle on one 
side, and bottle-ale on the other, I am confident 
you have arrived at a pitch of learning and virtue 
sufficient for any gentleman to set up with in the 
country — that is, to be the prop of the family. 



320 SAUNY THE SCOT. 

Wm. My father's fondness has kept me so long 
in the country, I've forgot all I'd learned at the 
university. Besides, take that at best, it but 
rough-casts us. No ; London is the choicest 
academy ; 'tis that must polish us and put a gloss 
upon our country studies. Hither I'm come at 
last, and do resolve to glean many vices. Thou, 
Tranio, hast been my companion ; still one bed has 
held us, one table fed us ; and though our bloods 
give me precedency, — that I count chance, — my 
love has made us equal, and I have found a frank 
return in thee. 

Tra. Such a discourse commands a serious 
answer. Know, then, your kindness tells me I 
must love you ; the good you have taught me 
commands me to honour you ; I have learned with 
you to hate ingratitude. But, setting those aside, 
for thus I may seem to do it for my own sake, be 
assured I must love you though you hate me ; I 
neither look at vice nor virtue in you, but as you 
are the person I dote on. 

Win. No more ; I do believe and know thou 
lov'st me. I wonder Jamy stays so long behind. 
You must look out to get me handsome lodgings, 
fit to receive such friends the town shall bring me. 
You must take care of all, for I'm resolved to 
make my study my sole business. I'll live hand- 
somely — not over high, nor yet beneath my quality. 

Enter Beaufoy, Margaret, Biancha, Woodall, 
and Geraldo. 

But stay a little ! what company's this 1 

Beau. Gentlemen, importune no farther ; you 
know my firm resolve not to bestow my youngest 
daughter before I have a husband for the elder. If 
either of you both love Peg, because I know you 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 321 

well and love you well, you shall have freedom to 
court her at your pleasure. 

Wood. That is to say, we shall have leave to 
have our heads broken; a prime kindness, by'r 
lady ! She's too rough for me. There, Geraldo, 
take her for me, if you have any mind to a wife ; 
you are young, and may clap trammels on her, and 
strike her to a pace in time. I dare not deal with 
her ; I shall never get her out of her high trot. 

Mar. 'Tis strange, sir, you should make a stale 
of me among these mates thus. 

Ger. Mates, madam % Faith, no mates for you, 
unless you were a little tamer ! Woe worth him 
that has the breaking of you ! 

Mar. Take heed I don't bestow the breaking of 
your calf's head for you. You mate 1 marry come 
up ! Go, get you a seamstress, and run in score 
with her for muckinders to dry your nose with, and 
marry her at last to pay the debt. And you there, 
goodman turnip-eater, with your neats-leather phis- 
nomy, I'll send your kitchen-wench to liquor it this 
wet weather. Whose old boots was it cut out of 1 

Ger. From all such petticoat devils deliver us, I 
pray ! 

Tra. Did you ever see the like, sir 1 That 
wench is either stark mad or wonderful froward. 

Wood. I can't tell, but I had as live take her 
dowry with this condition, to be whipped at 
Charing Cross every morning. 

Ger. Faith, as you say, there's small choice in 
rotten apples ; but since 'tis as 'tis, let us be friendly 
rivals, and endeavour for a husband for Margaret 
that Biancha may be free to have one, and then he 
that can win her wear her. 

Wood. I would give the best horse in Smith field 
to him that would throughly woo her, wed her, 
x 



322 SAUNY THE SCOT. 

and bed her, and rid the house of her, to carry 
her far enough off. Well, come, agreed ! [Exit. 

Tra. But pray, sir, is 't possible that love should 
of a sudden take such hold of you 1 

Win. Oh, Tranio, till I found it to be true I 
never found it possible ; but she has such attractive 
charms, he were a stone that did not love her. I 
am all fire ; burn, pine, perish, Tranio, unless I 
win her. Counsel me and assist me, dear Tranio. 

Tra. Are all your resolutions for study come to 
this 1 You have got a book will hold you tack ; 
you are like to be a fine virtuoso. Now must we to 
a chemist, to set his still a going for philters, love 
powders, and extracts of sighs and heighos. 

Win. Nay, Tranio, do not make sport with my 
passion ; it is a thing so deeply rooted here, it can- 
not die but it must take me with it. Help me, or 
hope not long to see thy master. 

Tra. Nay, sir, if you are so far gone there's no 
remedy, we must contrive some way, but 'twill 
be difficult ; for you know her father has mewed 
her up, and till he has rid his hands of her sister 
there's no coming near her. 

Win. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father's he. But 
don't you remember what care he took to provide 
masters for her 1 

Tra. Ay, sir, and what of all that? 

Win. Y' are a fool ! Can't I be preferred to her 
to teach her French 1 I have a good command of 
the language, and it may be easily done. 

Tra. I don't apprehend the easiness of it ; for 
who shall be Sir Lyonel's son here in town, — to 
ply his studies, and welcome his friends, visit his 
kindred, and entertain 'em 1 

Win. Be content ! I have a salve for that too. 
We have not yet been seen in any house, nor can 






SAUNY THE SCOT. 323 

be distinguished by our faces for man or master. 
Then it follows thus : You, Tranio, must be young 
Winlove in my stead, and bear yourself according 
to my rank. I'll be an ordinary French master 
about the town ; the time I stayed in France in 
that will help me ; it must be so. Come, come, 
uncase ! and take my clothes, and when we're at 
our lodgings we'll make a full change. When 
Jamy comes he waits on thee; but first I'll charm 
his tongue. 

Tra. 'Twill be needful. Since this is your plea- 
sure I'm tied to be obedient, for so your father 
charged me at your parting, although, I think, 
'twas in another sense ; in short, I'm ready to 
serve you and assist you in your enterprise. 

Enter Jamy. 

Win. Here comes the rogue. Sirrah, where 
have you been 1 

Jamy. Where have I been 1 Pray, how now, 
master, where are you, master? Has Tranio 
stolen your clothes, or you his, or both 1 

Win. Sirrah, come hither ! this is not the time 
to jest. Some weighty reasons make me take this 
habit. Enquire not; you shall know 'em time 
enough. Meanwhile, wait you on Tranio in my 
stead, I charge you, as becomes you. You under- 
stand me 1 

Jamy. I, sir 1 ne'er a whit. 

Win. And not of Tranio one word in your 
mouth ; he's turned to Winlove. 

Jamy. The better for him ; would I were so too ! 

Tra. When I am alone with you, why, then, I 
am Tranio still; in all places else, your master, 
Winlove. 

Win. Tranio, let's go. One thing yet remains, 



324 SAUNY THE SCOT. 

which you must by no means neglect, that is, to 
make one amongst these wooers. Ask me not 
why, but be satisfied my reasons are both good 
and weighty. 

Tra. I obey, sir ! [Exeunt. 



Act ii. 
Enter Petruchio and his Man, Sauny. 

Pet. Sirrah, leave off your Scotch, and speak me 
English, or something like it. 

Sail. Gud will I, sir. 

Pet. I think we have ridden twenty miles in 
three hours, Sauny. Are the horses well rubbed 
down and littered 1 

Sau. Deil o' my saul, sir, I ne'er scrubbed mysel' 
better than I scrubbed your nags. 

Pet. And thou need'st scrubbing, I'll say that 
for thee, thou beastly knave ! Why do ye not get 
yourself cured of the mange 1 

Sau. 'Sbreed, sir, I wud nea be cured for a 
thousand pund ; there's nea a lad in a' Scotland 
but loves it. Gud, Sauny might hang himsel' an 
it were not for scratten and scrubben. 

Pet. Why so, prithee 1 

Sau. When ye gea 'tull a lady's house ye are 
blithe and bonny, sir, and gat gud meat, but the 
deil a bit gats Saundy, meer than hunger and 
cawd, sir. Ba then, sir, when a' the footmen 
stan' still, sir, and ha nothing to dea, then gaes 
Saundy tull his pastime, scratten and scrubben. 

Pet. Dost call it pastime 1 

Sau. A my saul dea I, sir. I take as muckle 
pleasure, sir, in scratten and scrubben as ye dea in 
tippling and mowing. 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 325 

Pet. Nay, if it be so, keep it, and much good 
may it d' ye. This is my old friend Geraldo's 
lodgings, for whose sake now I am come to town. 
I hope he's at home ; there, Sauny, knock. 

Sau. Wuns, sir, I see nean to knock boe' yer 
eansel', sir. 

Pet. Sirrah, I say knock me soundly at this 
gate. 

Sau. Out, out, in the muckle deil's name t' ye ! 
You'll gar me strike ye, and then ye'U put me 
awa, sir. With yer favour I'se ne'er do't, sir. 
Gud, an ye nea ken when ye an a gued man, 
'sbreed, I wot when I've a gued master. Ye's bang 
yersel' for Saundy. 

Pet. Eogue ! I'll make you understand me. 

[Beats him. 

Sau. Gud, an ye'd give Saundy ea bang ai twa 
meer i' that place, for I can ne'er come at it to 
scrat it mysel', sir. 

Pet. Yes, thus, sir ! [Beats him again. 

Sau. The deil fa' yer fingers ! I may not beat 
yea o' ye'er ean dunghill, sir ; bot gin I had yea 
in Scotland, I'se nea give yea a bawbee for your 
lugs. 

Enter Geraldo. 

Get. How now, Sauny % What ! crying out % 
Dear Petruchio, most welcome ! When came you 
to town 1 ? What quarrel is this 'twixt you and 
Sauny % I pray, let me compose the difference ; 
and tell me, now, what happy gale drove you to 
town, and why in this habit 1— why in mourning 1 

Pet. A common calamity to us young men ; my 
father has been dead this four months. 

Ger. Trust me, I am sorry. A good old gentle- 
man. 



326 SAUNY THE SCOT. 

Sau. Gee yer gate, sir, gee yer gate ! On ye be 
fow a grief ye're nea friend, sir. We are blithe and 
bonny, sir ; we ne'er woe for 't. 

Pet. Sirrah, you long to be basted. 

Sau. Gud, do I not, sir. 

Pet. Hither I come to try my fortunes, to see if 
good luck and my friends will help me to a wife. 
Will you wish me to one 1 

Ger. What qualifications do you look for 1 

Pet. Why, money — a good portion. 

Ger. Is that all? 

Pet. All, man 1 All other things are in my 
making. 

Ger. I shall come roundly to you, and wish you 
to a rich wife ; but her face 

Pet. That shall break no squares — a mask will 
mend it ; wealth is the burthen of my wooing 
song. If she be rich, I care not if she want a nose 
or an eye ; anything with money. 

Sau. De ye nea gie him creedit, sir. I wud a 
halpt him tull a Heeland lady with twanty thou- 
sand pund. Gud, he wud nea have her, sir ! 

Pet. Sirrah, your twenty thousand pounds 
Scotch will make but a pitiful English portion. 

Sau. Gud, sir, bo a muckle deal of Scotch 
punds is as gued as a little deal of English 
punds. 

Ger. She has nothing like this, but a thing 
worse ; she has a tongue that keeps more noise 
than all that ever moved at Billingsgate. 

Pet. Pish, a trifle ! Where lives she ? I long 
to be wooing her. Let me alone with her tongue ; 
I'm in love with the news of it. Who is 't % who 
is 't % I'm resolved for her or nobody. 

Ger. But look before you leap, sir, and say you 
were warned. 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 327 

Sau. Out, out, he can nea break his cragg upon 
her. Gud, an ye'd venter your bonny lass, I'se 
venter my bonny lad at her, sir. 

Ger. Her father is the brave, noble Beaufoy; 
her name Margaret, famed about town for a vixen. 

Pet. The town's an ass ! Come, prithee, show 
me the house ; I will not sleep till I see her. I 
know her father. Nay, I am resolved, man; 
come, prithee, come ! 

Sau. Wuns, man, an she be a scawd, awa' with 
her, awa' with her, and Johnee Johnston's curse * 
gang with her ! 

Ger. Prithee, what's that 1 

Sau. That is, the deil creep into her weem t' ith' 
very bottom on't, that's to the croon, gued faith, of 
her head. 

Ger. Well, sir, if you are resolved, I'll wait on 
you. To say the truth, 'twill be my great advan- 
tage ; for if you win her, I shall have liberty to 
see her younger sister, sweet Biancha, to whose 
fair eyes I am a votary. And you, in order to my 
love, Petruchio, must help me. I'll tell you why, 
and how you must prefer me as a Music-master to 
old Beaufoy. 

Pet. I understand you not. 

Sau. He'd ha' ye make him her piper, sir. Gud, 
at ye'd make Saundy her piper, wuns, I'd sea 
blea her pipe. 

Pet Sirrah, be quiet. What I can I'll serve you 
in. But who comes here, Geraldo ? 

Enter Wood all and Winlove disguised. 

Ger. 'Tis Mr. Woodall, a rich old citizen, and 
my rival. Hark ! 

Sau. Out, out ! What sud an aud carle do with 

* Qy. Johnstone, the Laird of Warriston's, curse ? 



328 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 



a young bonny lass? Are ye not an aud thief, 
sir] 

Wood. How? 

Sau. Are ye not an aud man, sir 1 

Wood. Yes, marry am I, sir. 

Sau. And are not ye to marry a young maiden ? 

Wood. Yes ; what then % 

Sau. And are not ye troubled with a sear grief, 
sir? 

Wood. A sear grief 1 — what sear grief ? 

Sau. You're troubled with a great weakness 
i' th' bottom of your bally. What sid ye dea 
with a young maiden 1 Out, out, out ! 

Wood. You understand me ? Your French books 
treat most of love ; those use her to, and now and 
then you may urge something of my love and 
merit. Besides her father's bounty, you shall find 
me liberal. 

Win. Mounsier, me will tell her the very fine 
ting of you ; me vill make her love you whether 
she can or no. 

Wood. Enough ! peace ! here's Geraldo. Your 
servant, sir. I am just going to Sir Nicholas* 
Beaufoy, to carry him this gentleman, a French- 
man, most eminent for teaching his country 
language. 

Ger. I have a master for Biancha too ; but, 
waiving that, I have some news to tell you. I 
have found out a friend that will woo Margaret. 
What will you contribute 1 for he must be hired 
to 't. 

Wood. Why, I will give him forty pieces f in 
hand, and when he has done't, I'll double the 
sum. 

Ger. Done, sir ! I'll undertake it. 



My Lord.— Ed. 1708. 



f Fifty guineas. — lb. 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 329 

Sau. 'Sbreed, sir, I'se gat it done muckle 
cheaper ; for twanty punds I'se dea it mysel'. 

Ger. Come ! down with your money ! and the 
bargain's made. 

Wood. But if he should not do it ? I don't care 
for throwing away so much money. 

Ger. If he don't, I'll undertake he shall refund. 

Wood. Why, then, here's ten pieces,* and that 
ring I'll pawn to you for t'other forty — 'tis worth 
a hundred. But does the gentleman know her 
qualities ] 

Pet. Ay, sir, and they are such as I am fond on. 
I would not be hired for anything to woo a person 
of another humour. 

Enter Tranio brave, and Jamy. 

Tra. Save you, gentlemen ! Pray, which is the 
way to Sir Nicholas Beaufoy's f house 1 

Wood. Why, sir, what's your business there ? 
You pretend not to be a servant to either of his 
daughters, d'ye ? 

Tra. You are something blunt in your ques- 
tions. Perhaps I do. 

Pet. Not her that chides, on any hand, I pray 1 

Tra. I love no chiders. Come, Jamy ! 

Ger. Praj T stay, sir ! is it the other % 

Tra. Maybe it is ; is it any offence 1 

Wood. Yes, 'tis, sir ! she is my mistress. 

Ger. I must tell you, sir, she is my mistress too. 

Tra. And I must tell you both she is my mis- 
tress. Will that content you 1 Nay, never frown 
for the matter. 

Sau. And I mun tell ye all, there's little hopes 
for Saundy then. 

Win. The rogue does it rarely. 
* Guineas.— Ed, 1708. + My Lord.— lb. 



330 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 



Pet. Nay, nay, gentlemen, no quarrelling, unless 
it were to the purpose. Have you seen this young 
lady, sir 1 ? 

Tra. No, sir ; but I'm in love with her cha- 
racter. They say she has a sister moves like a 
whirlwind. 

Pet. Pray spare your description, sir. That 
furious lady is my mistress, and, till I have married 
her, Biancha is invisible. Her father has sworn it, 
and, till then, you must all move forty foot off. 

Tra. I thank you for your admonition ; I should 
have lost my labour else. And, since you are to do 
all of us the favour, I shall be glad to be num- 
bered among your servants, sir. 

Pet. You will honour me to accept of me for 
yours. But pray, sir, let me know who obliges 
me with this civility. 

Tra. My name is Winlove, sir, a Worcester- 
shire gentleman, where I have something an old 
man's death will entitle me to, not inconsiderable. 
Come, gentlemen, let's not fall out, at least till the 
fair Biancha's at liberty. Shall we go sit out half- 
an-hour at the tavern, and drink her health 1 

Sau. Do, my beams ; and I'se drink with ye to 
countenance ye. 

Pet. Ay, ay, agreed. Come ! and then I'll to my 
mistress. 

Sau. Gud, these lads are o' Saundy's mind; 
they'll rather take a drink nor fight. [Exeunt. 

Enter Margaret and Biancha. 

Mar. Marry come up, proud slut ! must you be 
making yourself fine before your elder sister? 
You are the favourite, are you ? but I shall make 
you know your distance. Give me that necklace 
and those pendants. I'll have that whisk too. 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 331 

There's an old handkerchief, good enough for 
you! 

Bian. Here, take 'em, sister ! I resign 'em freely. 
I would give you all I have to purchase your 
kindness. 

Mar. You nattering gipsy ! I could find in my 
heart to slit your dissembling tongue. Come, tell 
me, and without lying, which of your suitors you 
love best. Tell me, or I'll beat you to clouts, and 
pinch thee like a fairy. 

Bian. Believe me, sister, of all men alive, I 
never saw that particular face which I could fancy 
more than another. 

Mar. Huswife, you lie ; and I could find in my 
heart to dash thy teeth down thy throat. I know 
thou lov'st Geraldo. 

Bian. If you affect him, sister, I vow to plead 
for you myself, but you shall have him. 

Mar. Oh, then, belike you fancy riches more; 
you love old Woodall 1 

Bian. That old fool 1 Nay, now I see you but 
jested with me all this while. I know you are not 
angry with me. 

Mar. If this be jest, then all the rest is so. I'll 
make ye tell me ere I have done with you, gossip. 

[Flies at her. 
Enter Beaufoy. 

Beau. Why, how now, Dame ! whence grows this 
insolence 1 Biancha, get thee in, my poor girl ! — 
[She iveeps.] — Fie, Peg ! put off this devilish humour. 
Why dost thou cross thy tender, innocent sister ? 
When did she cross thee with a bitter word ? 

Mar. Her silence flouts me, and I'll be revenged ! 

[Flies at Biancha. 

Beau. What ! in my sight too 1 You scurvy, 



332 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 



ill-natured thing ! Go, poor Biancha, get thee out 
of her way. [Exit. 

Mar. What ! will you not suffer me 1 Nay, 
now I see she is your treasure. She must have a 
husband, and I dance barefoot on her wedding day, 
and, for your love to her, lead apes in hell. I see 
your care of me; I'll go and cry till I can find a 
way to be quit with her. [Exit. 

Beau. Was ever poor man thus plagued 1 

Enter Woodall, with Winlove disguised, with 
J amy carrying a lute and books, and Tranio. 

How now 1 Who's here 1 

Wood. Sir, your servant. I am bold to wait on 
you, to present you this gentleman, an acute 
teacher of the French tongue ; his name's Moun- 
sieur Maugier. Pray accept his service. 

Beau. I am your debtor, sir. Mounsieur, you're 
welcome. 

Win. Me give you humble thanks, sir. 

Beau. But what gentleman is that 1 

Wood. I don't love him so well to tell you his 
errand, but he would come along with me. You 
had best ask him. 

Tra. I beg your pardon for my intrusion. We 
heard your fair and virtuous daughter Biancha 
praised to such a height of wonder, fame has 
already made me her servant. I've heard your 
resolution not to match her till her eldest sister 
be bestowed ; meanwhile, I beg admittance, like 
the rest, to keep my hopes alive. This lute, sir, 
and these few French romances, I would dedicate 
to her service. . 

Beau. Sir, you oblige me ; pray, your name 1 

Tra. 'Tis Winlove, son and heir to Sir Lyonel 
Winlove. 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 333 

Beau. My noble friend, he has been my school- 
fellow. For his sake you are most kindly welcome ; 
you shall have all the freedom I can give you. 

Enter Sauny, and Geraldo disguised. 

Sau. Hand in hand, sir, I'se go tell him mysel'. 
Whare is this laird % 

Beau. Here, sir ; what would you have ? What 
are you % 

Sau. Marry, I'se ean a bonny Scot, sir. 

Beau. A Scotchman ! Is that all % 

Sau. Wuns ! wud ye have me a cherub 1 I ha' 
brought ye a small teaken, sir. 

Beau. But d'ye hear, you Scot, don't you use to 
put off your cap to your betters 1 

Sau. Marry, we say in Scotland gead morn till 
ye for a' the day, and sea put on our bonnets 
again, sir. Bud, sir, I ha' brought ye a teaken. 

Beau. To me ] Where is't ? From whence is 
your teaken ? 

Sau. Marry, from my good master, Petruchio, 
sir. He has sen' ye a piper to teach your bonny 
lasses to pipe ; but gin ye'd lit Sauny teach 'em, 
I'se pipe 'em sea — whim, whum — their a . . s shall 
ne'er leave giging and joging while there's a tooth 
in their head. 

Beau. Petruchio 1 I remember him now. How 
does thy master 1 

Sau. Marry, sir, he means to make one of 
your lasses his wanch — that is, his love and 
his ligby. 

Beau. You are a saucy rogue. 

Sau. Gud wull a, sir. He'll tak your lass with 
a long tang that the deil and Saundy wunna venter 
on ; but he's here his aunsel, sir. 



334 SAUNY THE SCOT. 

Enter Petruchio. 

Pet. Your most humble servant ! 
Beau. Noble Petruchio, welcome ! I thank you 
for your kindness to my daughters. Within there ! 

Enter Servant. 

Conduct these gentlemen to my daughters. Tell 
'em these are both to be their masters ; bid 'em 
use 'em civilly. Take in that lute and those 
books there ! Petruchio, I hear you have lost 
your father lately. 

Pet. 'Tis true, but I hope to find another in 
you. In short, I hear you have a fair daughter 
called Margaret. The world says she is a Shrew, 
but I think otherwise. You know my fortune ; if 
you like my person, with your consent I'll be your 
son-in-law. 

Beau. I have such a daughter, but I so much 
love you I would not put her into your hands ; 
she'll make you mad. 

Sau. Gud, he's as mad as heart can wish, sir ; 
he need nea halp, sir. 

Pet. I'll venture it, father — so I'll presume to 
call ye. I'm as peremptory as she's proud-minded ; 
and where two raging fires meet together, they 
do consume the thing that feeds their fury. My 
father's estate I have bettered, not embezzled ; 
then tell me, if I can get your daughter's love, 
what portion you will give ? 

Beau. After my death the moiety of my estate ; 
on the wedding day three thousand pounds. 

Pet. And I'll assure her jointure answerable. 
Get writings drawn ; I'll warrant you I'll carry 
the wench. 

Beau. Fair luck betide you ! 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 335 

Enter Geraldo, bleeding. 

How now, man, what's the matter] Will my 
daughter be a good lutanist 1 

Ger. She'll prove a better cudgel-player; lutes 
will not hold her. 

Beau. Why, then, thou canst not break her to 
thy lute 1 

Ger. No, but she has broke the lute to me. I 
did but tell her she mistook her frets, and bowed 
her head to teach her fingerings. " Frets call you 
these ? " quoth she, " and I'll fret with you ;" so 
fairly took me o'er the pate with the lute, and set me 
in the pillory ; and followed it with loud volleys of 
rogue, rascal, fiddler, Jack, puppy, and such like ! 

Pet. Now, by the world, I love her ten times 
more than e'er I did ! 

Sau. Gud ! bo' the deil a bit ye's wad her, sir. 
Wuns ! I'se nea gi' twa pence for my lugs gin you 
make her yer bride. 

Pet. I'll warrant you, Sauny, we'll deal with her 
well enough. 

Bean. Well, sir, I'll make you reparation. Pro- 
ceed still with my youngest daughter ; she's apt to 
learn. Petruchio, will you go with us, or shall I 
send my daughter to you % 

Pet. Pray do, sir, and I'll attend her here. 

[Exeunt. Manent Petruchio and Sauny. 

Sau. Gud ! at yed gi' Saundy a little siller to gea 
to Scotland agen 1 

Pet. Why, Sauny, I have not used thee so un- 
kindly. 

Sau. Gud ! I'se nea tarry with a scauding 
quean, sir ; yet the deil fa' my lugs if I'se ken 
which is worse, to tarry and venture my crag, or 
gea heam to Scotland agen. 



336 SAUNY THE SCOT. 

Enter Margaret. 

Pet. Peace, sirrah, here she comes ! Now for a 
rubber at cuffs. Oh, honey, pretty Peg, how dost 
thou do, wench? 

Mar. Marry come up, Eagmanners ! Plain Peg % 
Where were you bred 1 I am called Mrs. Mar- 
garet. 

Pet. No, no, thou liest, Peg. Thou'rt called 
plain Peg, and bonny Peg, and sometimes Peg 
the cursed ; take this from me. Hearing thy 
wildness praised in every town, thy virtues 
sounded, and thy beauty spoke of, myself am 
moved to take thee for my wife. 

Mar. I knew at first you were a moveable. 

Pet. Why, what's a moveable ? 

Mar. A joint-stool. 

Pet. Thou hast hit it, Peg. Come, sit upon me. 

Mar. Asses were made to bear, and so were 
you. 

Pet. Why, now I see the world has much 
abused thee. 'Twas told me thou wert rough, and 
coy, and sullen ; but I do find thee pleasant, mild, 
and courteous. Thou canst not frown, nor pout, 
nor bite the lip, as angry wenches do. Thou art 
all sweetness ! 

Mar. Do not provoke me; I won't stand still 
and hear myself abused. 

Pet. What a rogue was that told me thou wert 
lame ! Thou art as straight as an osier, and as 
pliable ! Oh, what a rare walk's there ! Why, 
there's a gait puts down the King of France's 
best great horse ! 

Sau. And the King of Scotland's tea. 

Pet. Where didst thou learn the grand pas, 
Peg 1 It becomes thee rarely. 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 337 

Mar. Does it so, saucebox 1 How will a halter 
become you, with a running knot under one ear 1 

Pet. Nay, no knot, Peg, but the knot of ma- 
trimony 'twixt thee and me. We shall be an 
excellent "mad couple well matched." * 

Mar. I matched to thee ? What 1 to such a fellow 
with such a gridiron face? with a nose set on 
like a candle's end stuck against a mud wall, and 
a mouth to eat milk porridge with ladles 1 Foh 1 
it almost turns my stomach to look on 't. 

Sau. Gud, an your stomach wamble to see his 
face, what will ye dea when ye see his a . . e, 
madam '? 

Mar. Marry come up, Aberdeen ! Take that — 
[hits him a box on the ear] — and speak next when it 
comes to your turn. 

Sau. 'Sbreed ! the deil tak' a gripe o' yer faw 
fingers, and driss your doublat for ye ! 

Pet. Take heed, Peg, Sauny's a desperate fellow. 

Mar. You're a couple of loggerheads, Master 
and Man, that I can tell you! [Going. 

Pet. Nay, nay, stay, Peg 3 For all this I do like 
thee, and I mean to have thee ; in truth, I am thy 
servant. 

Mar. Are you ? Why, then, I'll give you a 
favour, and thus I'll tie it on ; there's for you ! 

[Beats him. 

Sau. Out, out ! I'se gea for Scotland. G-ud, an 
she beat ye, Saundy's a dead man. 

Pet. I'll swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again. 

Mar. That's the way to lose your arm. If you 
strike a woman you are no gentleman. 

Pet. A herald, Peg ! Prithee, blazon my coat. 

Mar. I know not your coat, but your crest is a 
coxcomb. [Offers to go away. 

* A successful comedy by Richard Brome. 8vo. 1653. 
Y 



338 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 



Pet. Stop her, sirrah ; stop her ! 

Sau. Let her gea her gate, sir, an e'en twa deils 
an' a Scotch wutch blaw her weem full of wind. 

Pet. Stay her, sirrah ; stay her, I say ! 

Sau. 'Sbreed, sir, stay her yersen ! But hear ye, 
sir, an her tail gea as fast as her tang, Gud ! ye ha' 
meet with a whupster, sir! 

Pet. Prithee, Peg, stay, and I'll talk to thee in 
earnest. 

Mar. You may pump long enough ere you get 
out a wise word. Get a nightcap to keep your 
brains warm. 

Pet. I mean thou shalt keep me warm in thy 
bed, Peg. What thinkst thou of that, Peg 1 In 
plain terms, without more ado, I have your father's 
consent, your portion's agreed upon, your jointure 
settled, and, for your own part, be willing or un- 
willing all's one, you I will marry ; I am resolved 
on't. 

Mar. Marry come up, Jack-a-Lent ! Without 
my leave *? 

Pet. A rush for your leave ! here's a clutter with 
a troublesome woman. Eest you contented, I'll 
have it so. 

Mar. You shall be baked first, you shall. 
Within there ! Ha ! 

Pet. Hold ! get me a stick there, Sauny. By 
this hand, deny to promise before your father, I'll 
not leave you a whole rib ; I'll make you do't and 
be glad on't. 

Mar. Why, you will not murder me, sirrah ? 
You are a couple of rascals. I don't think but 
you have picked my pockets. 

Sau. I'se sooner pick your tang out o' your head 
nor pick your pocket. 

Pet. Come, leave your idle prating. Have you 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 339 

I will, or no man ever shall. Whoever else 
attempts it, his throat will I cut before he lies one 
night with thee ; it may be, thine too for company. 
I am the man am born to tame thee, Peg. 

Enter Beaufoy, Woodall, and Tranio. 

Here comes your father. Never make denial ; if 
you do, you know what follows. 

Mar. The devil's in this fellow, he has beat me 
at my own weapon. I have a good mind to 
marry him, to try if he can tame me. 

Beau. Now, Petruchio, how speed you with my 
daughter 1 

Pet. How, but well? It were impossible I 
should speed amiss ; 'tis the best - natured'st 
lady 

Beau. Why, how now, daughter ! in your 
dumps % 

Mar. You show a father's care, indeed, to match 
me with this mad, hectoring fellow. 

Bet. She has been abused, father, most un- 
worthily. She is not cursed unless for policy ; for 
patience, a second Grizel. Betwixt us we have so 
agreed, the wedding is to be on Thursday next. 

Sau. Gud ! Saundy's gea for Scotland a Tuesday, 
then. 

Wood. Hark, Petruchio ! she says she'll see you 
hanged first. Is this your speeding 1 I shall make 
you refund. 

Bet. Pish ! that's but a way she has gotten. I 
have wooed her, won her, and she's my own. We 
have made a bargain that before company she 
shall maintain a little of her extravagant humour, 
for she must not seem to fall off from 't too soon. 
When we are alone, we are the kindest, lovingest, 
tenderest chickens to one another ! Pray, father, 



340 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 



provide the feast and bid the guests ; I must home 
to settle some things, and fetch some writings in 
order to her jointure. Farewell, Gallants ! Give 
me thy hand, Peg. 

Beau. I know not what to say; but give me 
your hands. Send you joy ! Petruchio, 'tis a 
match. 

Wood. Tra. Amen say we ; we all are witnesses. 

Mar. Why, sir, d'ye mean to match me in spite 
of my teeth % 

Pet. Nay, peace, Peg, peace ! thou need'st not 
be peevish before these ; 'tis only before strangers, 
according to our bargain. Come, Peg, thou shalt 
go see me take horse. Farewell, father ! 

Mar. As I live I will not. 

"Pet. By this light but you shall. Nay, no testy 
tricks ; away ! [Exeunt. 

Sau. Gud ! I'se be your lieutenant, and bring up 
your rear, madam. [Exit. 

Wood. Was ever match clapped up so suddenly? 

Beau. Faith, gentlemen, I have ventured madly 
on a desperate mart. 

Wood. But now, sir, as to your younger daugh- 
ter ; you may remember my long love and service. 

Tra. I hope I may, without arrogance, sir, beg 
you to look on me as a person of more merit. 

Beau. Content ye, gentlemen, I'll compound 
this strife ; 'tis deeds not words must win the 
prize. I love you both, but he that can assure my 
daughter the noblest jointure has her. What say 
you, sir 1 

Wood. I'll make it out my estate is worth, de 
clara, full twenty thousand pounds, besides some 
ventures at sea ; and all I have at my decease I 
give her. 

Tra. Is that all, sir 1 Alas ! 'tis too light, sir. 



SAUXY THE SCOT. 341 

I am my father's heir and only soil and his estate 
is worth three thousand pound per annum: that 
will afford a jointure answerable to her portion. 
Xo debts nor incumbrances, no portions to he 
paid. — Have I nip: you. sir f 

Bea u, I must confess your offer is the best : and 
let your father make her this assurance, she is 
own. else you must pardon me, if you should 
die before him. where' s her power ? 

Tra. Thai's bat a cavil; he's old, I young! 

Wood. And may not young men die as well as 
old ! Hare I nipt yon there again f 

Beam. Well, gentlemen. I am thus resolved. On 
Thursday mv dansfrte r Peg is :: be mauled He 



Thursday following Bfemelia'fl yours if you make 

this assurance : if' not. Mr. VT,>odalI L:-.= her. And 
s : I take my leave, and thank you both. ~I : ': 

Wood >:: your servant; now I fear you not. 
Alas ! young man, your father is not such a fool to 
give you all. and in his waning ige set his foot 
under your table. You uist g : ~histle for your 
!i;i ; :ress. Ha, ha, ha! ~E;: : .:. 

Tra. A vengeance on your crafty, withered hide. 
Yet 'tis in my head to do my master good. I ser 
no reason why this supposed young Winlove 
should not get supposed father called Sir Lyonel 
Win! ova And that's a wonder : fathers commonly 
get their children, but here the case must be 
rdterei 

1 : "e brings such proci^s is these to town. 
F:r that at best turns all things upside down. 

[Exit. 



342 SAUNY THE SCOT. 



Act hi. 

Enter Winlove, Geraldo, and Biancha. Table 
covered with velvet. Two chairs and a guitar. 
A paper pricked with songs. 

Ger. Pray, madam, will you take out this lesson 
on the guitar ] 

Win. Here be de ver line story in de varle of 
Monsieur Apollo and Mademoiselle Daphne; me 
vill read you dat, madam. 

Ger. Good madam, mind not that Monsieur 
Shorthose, but learn this lesson first. 

Win. Begar, Monsieur Fiddeller, you be de vera 
fine troublesome fellow; me vill make de great 
hole in your head wid de gittar, as Mrs. Margaret 
did. 

Ger. This is no place to quarrel in. But remem- 
ber 

Bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double 
wrong, to strive for that which resteth in my bare 
choice. To end the quarrel, sit down and tune 
your instrument, and by that time his lecture will 
be done. 

Ger. You'll leave his lecture, when I am in tune ? 

Bian. Yes, yes ; pray be satisfied. Come, Mon- 
sieur ! let's see your ode. 

Win. I do suspect that fellow. Sure he's no 
lute-master. 

Bian. Here's the place ! come, read. 

[Beads.] — " Do not believe I am a Frenchman. 
My name is Winlove ; he that bears my name 
about the town is my man Tranio. I am your 
passionate servant, and must live by your smiles. 
Therefore be so good to give life to my hopes." 

Ger. Madam, your guitar is in tune ! 




SAUNY THE SCOT. 343 

Bian. Let's hear. Fie ! there's a string split. 

Win. Make a de spit turn in the hole, man, and 
tune it again. 

Bian. Now let me see. — [Seems to read.] — " I 
know not how to believe you, but, if it be true, 
noble Mr. Winlove deserves to be beloved ; and, in 
the meantime, keep your own counsel, and it is 
not impossible but your hopes may be converted 
into certainties." 

Ger. Madam, now 'tis perfectly in tune. 

Win. Fie, fie ! begar, no tune at all ! 

Bian. Now, sir, I am for you. 

Ger. Monsieur, pray walk now ! and give me 
leave a-while; my lesson will make no music in 
three parts. 

Win. Me vill no trouble you, Monsieur Fiddeller ; 
I am confident it is so. This must be some person 
that has taken a disguise, like me, to court 
Biancha. I'll watch him. [Aside. 

Ger. First, madam, be pleased to sing the last 
song that I taught you, and then we'll proceed. 

Bian. I'll try, but I am afraid I shall be out. 

SONG. 

Ger. Madam, before you proceed any farther, 
there be some few rules set down in this paper, 
in order to your fingering, will be worth your 
perusal. 

Bian. Let's see. — [Reads] — " Though I appear a 
lute-master, yet know, my fair Biancha, I have but 
taken this disguise to get access to you, and tell 
you I am your humble servant and passionate 
admirer, Geraldo." Pish ! take your rules again, 
I like 'em not ; the old way pleases me best. I do 
not care for changing old rules for these foolish 
new inventions. 



344 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 



Enter Servant. 

Serv. Madam, my Lord calls for you to help 
dress the Bride. 

Bian. Farewell, then, Master ! I must be gone. 

[Exeunt. 

Get. I know not what to think of her. This 
fellow looks as if he were in love, and she caresses 
him. These damned Frenchmen have got all the 
trade in town. If they get up all the handsome 
women, the English must e'en march into Wales 
for mistresses. Well, if thy thoughts, Biancha, 
are grown so low, to cast thy wandering eyes on 
such a kickshaw, I'm resolved to ply my Widow. 

[Exit 

Win. I'm glad I'm rid of him, that I may speak 
my mother tongue again. Biancha has given me 
hopes ; I dare half believe she loves me. 

Enter Beaufoy, Wood all, Tranio, Margaret, 
Biancha, and Attendants. 

But, here's her father ! 

Beau. Believe me, gentlemen, 'tis very strange ! 
This day Petruchio appointed, yet he comes not. 
Methinks he should be more a gentleman than to 
put such a slur upon my family. 

Mar. Nay, you have used me finely, and like a 
father. I must be forced to give my hand against 
my will to a rude, mad-brained fellow here, who 
wooed in haste and means to wed at leisure. This 
comes of obeying you. If I do't again, were you 
ten thousand fathers, hang me ! 

Tra. Be patient, madam ; on my life he'll come. 
Though he be blunt and merry, I'm sure he's noble. 
Good madam, go put on your wedding clothes ; 
I know he'll be with you ere you be dressed. 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 345 

Mar, Wedding clothes'? I'll see him hanged 
before I'll have him, unless it be to scratch his 
eyes out. [Exit iveeping. 

Beau. Poor girl ! I cannot blame thee now to 
weep, for such an injury would vex a saint. 
Though I am old, I shall find somebody will call 
him to a strict account for this. 

Enter Jamy. 

J amy. Oh, master ! news, news ! and such news 
as you never heard of ! 

Beau. Why, what news have you, sir 1 

Jamy. Is't not news to hear of Petruchio's 
coming 1 

Beau. Why, is he come ? 

Jamy. Why, no, my Lord. 

Beau. What then, sirrah ? 

Jamy. He's coming, sir. 

Beau. When will he be here 1 

Jamy. When he stands where I am and sees you 
there. 

Beau. Well, sirrah, is this all the news 1 

Jamy. Why, Petruchio is coming in a new hat 
and an old jerkin, a pair of breeches thrice turned, 
a pair of boots that have been candle-cases ; an old 
rusty sword with a broken hilt and never a chape ; 
upon an old, lean, lame, spavined, glandered, 
broken-winded jade, with a woman's crupper of 
velvet, here and there pieced with packthread. 

Tra. Who comes with him 1 

Jamy. Oh, sir, his man Sauny, and in an equipage 
very suitable to his master ; he looks no more like 
a Christian footman than I look like a windmill. 

Wood. This is a most strange, extravagant 
humour. 

Beau. I'm glad he comes, however he be. 



346 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 



Enter Petruchio and Sauny, strangely habited. 

Pet. Come, where be these Gallants 1 Who's at 
home'? 

Beau. You're welcome, sir ! I'm glad you're 
come at last. 

Tra. I think I have seen you in better clothes. 

Pet. Never, never, sir; this is my wedding 
suit. Why, how now, how now, gentlemen ? 
What d'ye stare at 1 D'ye take me for a monster 1 

Wood. Faith, in that habit you might pass for 
one in the fair. 

Pet. Oh, you talk merrily ; my tailor tells me 
it is the newest fashion. But where's my Peg ? 
I stay too long from her ; the morning wears, 'tis 
time we were at church. 

Tra. Why, you won't visit her thus % 

Pet. Marry, but I will. 

Sau. And sea will Saundy tea, sir. 

Beau. But you will not marry her so, will you 1 

Sau. A my saul sail he, sir. 

Pet. To me she's married, not to my clothes. 
Will you along, father and gentlemen? I'll to 
church immediately, not tarry a minute. 

Sau. Hear ye, sir ; ye sail marry her after the 
Scotch Directory; then, gin ye like her not, ye 
maw put her awa. How say ye, now 1 

[Exeunt Petruchio and Sauny. 

Tra. He has some meaning in this mad attire ; 
but you must persuade him to put on a better ere 
he goes to church. 

Beau. Let's after, and see what will become of 
it. [Exit. 

Tra. Well, sir, you find there's no other way ; 
'tis too short warning to get your father up. 
Should you steal the match, who knows but both 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 347 

the old fools would so deeply resent it to your 
prejudice. 

Win. Why, prithee, this way it will be stolen; 
for 'tis but a cheat, which will, in a little time, be 
discovered. 

Tra. That's all one ; it carries a better face, and 
we shall have the more sport. Besides, ere it 
comes out, your father may be wrought to like it, 
and confirm my promises. She is suitable to you 
every way, and she is rich enough to do it, and 
loves you well enough besides. 

Win. Well, if it must be so, let's contrive it 
handsomely. 

Tra. Let me alone ; Jamy shall do the business. 
He shall find out some knight of the post that 
shall be old Sir Lyonel Winlove here, and make 
assurance of a greater jointure than I proposed. 
Ne'er fear it, sir ; I'll so instruct him it shall be 
carried without the least suspicion. 

Win. Ay ; but, you know, old Beaufoy knows 
my father; 

Tra. That's nothing; 'tis so many years since 
he saw him, he will never distinguish him by his 
face. 

Win. This may be done. But, notwithstanding 
all, did not my fellow-teacher, that damned lute- 
master, so nearly watch us, 'twould not be amiss 
to steal a marriage ; and, that once performed, let 
all the world say no, I'll keep my own ! 

Tra. That we may think on too. This same 
lute-master I more than half suspect. 

Win. And so do I. 

Tra. I have missed a gentleman out of the gang 
a good while. But let that pass ; I have already 
sent Jamy to find a man. 



343 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 



Enter Woodall. 

To our postures ; here's Mr. Woodall ! He must be 
choused too among the rest. — Save you, sir ! 
Came you from the church % 

Wood. As willingly as e'er I came from school. 

Tra. And is the bride and bridegroom coming 
home 1 

Wood. A bridegroom 1 Why, he's a bridegroom 
for the devil ! A devil 1 A very fiend ! 

Tra. Why, she's a devil, an arrant devil ! nay, 
the devil's dam ! 

Wood. But she's a lamb, a dove, a child to him ! 
When the priest asked if he would take Margaret 
for his wife, " Ay, by Gog's wounds," quoth he, and 
swore so loud that, all amazed, the priest lets fall 
the book ; and as the sexton stooped to take it up, 
this mad-brained bridegroom took him such a cuff 
that down fell sexton, book and all, again. " Now 
take it up," quoth he, " if any list." 

Tra. What said the poor bride to this 1 

Wood. Trembled and shook like an aspen-leaf. 
After this, just as the parson joined their hands, 
he called to his roguey Scotchman for a glass of 
muscadine, drank his wife's health, and threw the 
toast in the clerk's face because his beard grew 
thin and hungry ; then took the bride about the 
neck, and gave her such a smack the church echoed 
again. The sight of this made me run away for 
shame; I know they are following by this time. 
But hark ! I hear the minstrels. [Music. 

Enter Beaufoy, Petruchio, Margaret, 
Biancha, Geraldo, Sauny, etc. 

Pet. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for 
your pains. I know you think to dine with me 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 349 

to-day, and have prepared great store of wedding 
cheer ; but, so it is, grand business calls me hence, 
and I take my leave. 

Beau. Is't possible you will away to-night % 

Pet. I must immediately; if you knew my 
business you would not wonder. — Well, honest 
gentlemen, I thank you all, that have beheld me 
give away myself to this most patient, sweet, and 
virtuous wife. Dine with my father, here, and 
drink my health, for I must hence ; so farewell to 
you all ! 

Sau. Wuns ! will ye nea eat your wadden 
dunner, sir? 

Tra. Let us entreat you to stay till after dinner ! 

Pet. It must not be. 

Mar. Let me entreat you ! 

Pet. That will do much ; I am content. 

Mar. Are you content to stay ? 

Pet. I am content you should entreat me; but 
yet I will not stay, entreat me how you can. 

Mar. Now, if you love me, stay ! 

Pet. I cannot. — Sauny! the horses. 

Sau. They have nea eat their wadden dunner yet. 

Pet. Sirrah, get the horses ! 

Mar. Nay, then, do what thou canst, I won't go 
to-day, nor to-morrow, nor till I please myself. 
The door is open, sir, there lies your way; you may 
be jogging while your boots be green. 

Pet. Oh, Peg, content thee; prithee be not 
angry! 

Mar. I will be angry ! What hast thou to do 1 
— Father, be quiet ; he shall stay my leisure ! 

Wood. Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work. 

Mar. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner. 
I see a woman may be made a fool of if she want 
spirit to resist. 



350 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 



Pet. They shall go forward, Peg, at thy com- 
mand. Obey the bride, you that attend on her. 
Go to the feast, revel, carouse, and dance, be mad 
or merry, or go hang yourselves ; but for my bonny 
Peg, she must with me. Nay, look not big upon't, 
nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret. Come, come — 
gently — so, so, so — that's my good Peg. I will be 
master of my own. She is my proper goods and 
chattels ; my house, my ox, my ass, my anything. 
Look, here she stands ; touch her who dare ! I'll 
make him smoke that offers to stop me in my way. 
Sauny, unsheath thy dudgeon* dagger ; we are 
beset with thieves ! Eescue thy mistress if thou 
beest a man. — Fear not, sweet wench, I'll buckler 
thee against a million. Nay, come ! 

Mar. Will none of you help me 1 

Sau. The deil a bit of dunner ye gat ! Gud, at 
ye would speak to your cuke to gie Saundy a little 
mutton and porridge to put in his wallet. 

[Exeunt Petruchio, Margaret, and Sauny. 

Beau. Nay, let 'em go — a couple of quiet 
ones. 

Tra. Never was so mad a match. 

Beau. Well, gentlemen, let's in • we have a din- 
ner, although we want a bride and bridegroom to 
it. Biancha, you shall take your sister's room, 
and, Mr. Winlove, you may practise for a bride- 
groom. [Exeunt. 

Wood. Monsieur, how do you find my mistress 
inclined 1 

Win. Me can no tell dat yet, but in time, Mon- 
sieur, me sail inform you. 

* "With the haft made of box- wood. " Dudgeon " is 
frequently used to express the dagger itself : — 
" It was a serviceable dudgeon, 
Either for fighting or for drudging." 

— Hudibras. 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 351 

Wood. Pray, ply her close ; here's something for 
you. [Exit Woodall. 

Win. Me tank you, sir. — Ha, ha, ha ! I must 
go tell this to my Biancha. [Exit Winlove. 

Tra. Hark ye, sir, you may inform me ; pray, 
what think you, does Madam Biancha fancy any 
other but myself? She bears me fair in hand. 
Pray discover, sir ; I shall not be ungrateful. 

Ger. Troth, sir, I think she's as all other women 
are. 

Tra. How is that, pray 1 

Ger. Why, fickle and foolish. 

Tra. Why d'ye think so of her % — she was always 
held discreet. 

Ger. No sober man will think so. I tell you, 
sir, she cares neither for you nor any man that's 
worth caring for. She's fallen in love with a 
Monsieur Jackdaw, a fellow that teaches bad 
French in worse English ! 

Tra. That fellow 1 — why, 'tis impossible ! 

Ger. 'Tis true, though. 

Tra. Why, I am confident he was employed by 
old Woodall as his instrument to court her for him. 

Ger. If he were, he has spoken one word for 
him and two for himself. 



Enter Winlove leading Biancha. 

See, here they come hand in hand. Stand close ! 
perhaps your eyes may convince you. 

Win. Madam, you need not doubt my passion. 
By those fair eyes I swear, an oath inviolable, 
you have made a conquest over me so absolute 
that I must die your captive. 

Tra. What does he say 1 what does he say 1 

Ger. I cannot hear ; listen ! 

Bian. I must believe you, sir, there's some 



352 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 



strange power attends your words, your attractive 
actions, and your person, which is too strong for 
my weak resistance. You have won, but do not 
boast your victory. 

Tra. Nay, then, I see 'tis so ; I cannot hold ) — 
Madam, you must forgive my interruption: you 
have used me kindly, fooled me with fine hopes ; 
your Monsieur, there, has read excellent lessons 
to you. 

Bian. Sir, I understand you not. 

Ger. That is, you won't. 

Win. What be de matter, Monsieur Fiddeller 1 

Ger. No fiddler, nor no lutanist, Monsieur No- 
point, but one that scorns to live in a disguise for 
such a one as leaves a gentleman to doat upon a 
pardon-a-moi Jack-pudding. Know I am a gentle- 
man, my name Geraldo ! 

Bian. Alas, sir ! And have you been my master 
all this while, and I never knew it 1 

Ger. Yes, sweet lady, you did know it. I see 
you have a little spice of Peg in you ; but I have 
done with you. Mr. Winlove, pray tell me, don't 
you hate this gentlewoman now ? 

Tra. I cannot say I hate her, but I'm sure I 
don't love her for this day's work. Would she 
court me, I swear I would not have her ! 

Ger, Nor I, by heavens ! I have sworn, and 
will keep my oath. 

Bian. Why, gentlemen, I hope you will not 
both give the willow garland. 

Ger. Go, go ; you are a scurvy woman ! I have 
a widow that has loved me as long as I have loved 
you. Sweet lady, I am not bankrupt for a mis- 
tress. Tis true she's something of your sister's 
humour, a little wayward, but one three days' 
time at the taming school will make her vie with 



SAUNT THE SCOT. 353 

any wife in England ; and then I can pass by you 
unconcerned. 

Bian. The taming school ! For heaven's sake 
where is that, sir 1 

Ger. Why, your brother Petruchio's house. I 
doubt you must there too ere you'll be good for 
anything. I'll to him immediately. Farewell, 
thou vile woman ! [Exit 

Bian. Ha, ha, ha ! this is excellent ! 

Tra. Madam, I beg your pardon ; but I hope 
my boldness with you has done my master some 
service. 

Win. Believe me has it, Tranio, and I must 
thank thee. 

Enter Jamy. 

Now, sirrah, whither away in such haste? 

Jamy. Oh, master, I have found him ! 

Win. What %— Who hast thou found ? 

Jamy. A rare old sinner in the Temple Cloisters 
— will do the feat to a hair. 

Bian. What feat ?— What's to be done 1 

Win. That which I told you of, my fairest. — 
Where is he % 

Jamy. Here, here ! he walks in the court. [Exit 

Bian. Well, I must in or I shall be missed. 
Carry the matter handsomely, and let me not 
suffer. [Exit. 

Win. Fear not, madam ! — Call him in, Tranio ] 
You must instruct him ; HI not be seen in 't. [Exit. 

Enter Jamy and Snatchpenny. 

Tra. Now, friend, what are you 1 
Snatch. Anything that you please, sir. 
Tra. Anything ! Why, what can you do ? 
Snatch. Anything, for so much as concerns swear- 
z 



354 SAUNY THE SCOT. 

ing and lying to your worship's service and to get 
an honest livelihood ; so please you to employ me. 

Tra. Why, thou may'st serve turn, I think. 
But I'll put thee to no swearing ; bare lying and 
impudence will serve for my occasion. You must 
bate of the price for that. 

Snatch. Faith, sir, they're both of a price, take 
'em or leave 'em. 

Tra. But canst thou manage and carry off a 
good, well- contrived lie to the best advantage ? 

Snatch. I should be very sorry else ; it has been 
my trade these seven-and-thirty years. Never 
fear it, sir. 

Jamy. Nay, I picked him out amongst half-a- 
score. I fancied he had the best lying face 
amongst 'em. 

Tra. Well, come along with me, and I'll instruct 
you ; but if you fail, look to your ears, if you have 
any! 

Snatch. I'll venture neck and all to do it, sir. [Exit. 

PETRUCHioViTowse. Enter Sauny and Curtis 



Curt. Honest Sauny ! welcome, welcome ! 

Sau. Saundy's hungry; can't you get a little 
meat, sir? 

Curt. Yes, yes, Sauny. 

Sau. Ye mun gat a gued fire, sir. Mrs. Bride 
has gat a fa' intull a dyke ; she's a' wet, sir — Gud, 
she has not a dry thread to her a . . e ! 

Curt. Is master and mistress coming, Sauny 1 

Sau. Gud are they, gin they be nea frozen to 
the grund. Bo where's your fire, man 1 

Curt. 'Tis making, 'tis making; all things are 
ready. Prithee, what news, good Sauny % What 
kind of woman is our mistress 1 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 355 

Sau. Ken ye twa-and-twanty deils, sir 1 

Curt. Marry, Heaven defend us ! 

Sau. Gud, she has e'en twa-and-twanty deils ; 
I'se nea bate ye ean of 'em. 

Curt. They say she's a cruel shrew. 

Sau. 0' my saul, sir, I'se haud a thousand 
pund, she's set up her tang and scaud fra Edin- 
brough to London and ne'er draw bit for 't ! 

Curt. What shall we do, then 1 there will be no 
living for us. 

Sau. Gud will there not. Wuns, I think the 
deil has flead off her skin and put his dam intul 't ! 
Bo where's Philip, and George, and Gregory 1 

Curt. They're all ready. What, ho ! come forth 
here ! Philip, George, Joseph, Nick ! where are 
you? 

Enter four or five Serving-Men. 

Phil. Honest Sauny, welcome home ! 

Sau. Gat me some meat, and I'll believe ye, sir. 

Geo. I am glad to see thee, Sauny. 

Sau. Gat me a drink and I'se believe ye tea. 

Jos. What 1 ? Sauny come to town again 1 ? 
Welcome ! 

Sau. Wuns, walcome, walcome ! Gat me gued 
meat and drink ; that is walcome, sir. 

Nick. Old lusty fellow, Sauny, welcome ! 

Sau. How d'ye, Wully ] 

Nick. D'ye hear the news, Sauny 1 ? Wully 
Watts is dead. 

Sau. 'Sbreed ! nea man that geas on twa legs 
could slay Wully Watts, sir. 

Nick. True, for he was fairly hanged. 

Sau. I was sure nea man that went on twa legs 
could slay him. 

Nick. You are in the right, Sauny, for 'twas one 



356 SAUNY THE SCOT. 

with three legs — 'twas Mr. Tyburn; for he was 
fairly hanged. 

Sau. 'Sbreed, ye lie, sir ! The gallows might kill 
him, and break his stout heart, but it could nea 
hang him. 'Tis hang an Englishman ! 

Nick. Well, but what kind of woman is our 
mistress, Sauny? 

Sau. Ye'll ken soon enough tea your sorrow and 
wea, sir. Ye've a' twa lugs apiece o' your head : 
a my saul, I'se nea gea ye twa pennies for them 
by th' morn. How say ye now 1 

Enter Petruchio and Margaret. 

Pet. Where be these idle rogues '! What ! no 
more at door to hold my stirrup or take my horses ? 
Where's Curtis, Philip, Nick, and Gregory 1 

All. Here ! here ! here ! sir ! 

Pet. Here, here, here, you loggerheaded curs'? 
What ! no attendance 1 — no regard 1— no duty 1 
Where's that foolish knave I sent before 1 

Sau. Wuns, sir, I'se be sea hungry and sea 
empty, ye may travel quite through me and ne'er 
faw your fingers, sir. 

Pet. You mangy rogue ! did not I bid you 
meet me in the park and bring these rascals with 
you? 

Sau. Gud did ye, sir; bo I'se sea hungry I'se 
ha' nea memory. Deliver your message yoursel', 
sir. 

Pet. Begone, you slaves, and fetch my supper in ! 
Eogues ! do I speak, and don't you fly to make 
haste? — [Exeunt two or three Servants.] — Sit 
down, Peg, and welcome. Why, when, I pray ? 
nay, good sweet Peg, be merry ; these are country 
clownish fellows — prithee be merry. — Off with my 
boots, sirrah ! you rogues ! ye villains ! — When 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 357 

Sings. 

It was the orders of the friar grey, 
As forth he walked on his way. 

Mar. Sure, he will run himself out of breath, 
and then it will be my turn. 

Pet. Out, you rogue ! you pluck my boot awry ! 
Take that, and mend it in pulling off the other. — 
Be merry, Peg. — Some water here, ho! — Where's 
my spaniel, sirrah 1 — Make haste, and desire my 
cousin Ferdinand to come hither — one, Peg, you 
must kiss and be acquainted with. — Where are 
my slippers 1 — Shall I have some water ? — Come, 
Peg, wash and welcome, heartily ! 

Sau. Wuns, bo whare is the meat to mak her 
welcome 1 

Mar. We shall fall out if we wash together.* 
Pet. You whorson villain ! will you let it fall 1 
Mar. Pray, sir, be patient ! 'twas an unwilling 
fault. 

Table covered. Enter Servants ivith meat. 

Pet. An idle, careless, beetle-headed slave ! Come, 
Peg, sit down ; I know you have a stomach. Will 
you give thanks, sweet Peg, or shall I, or each for 
ourselves 1 Come, fall to !— What's this 1 — mutton ? 

Sau. Gud, it is, sir. 

Pet. Who bought it 1 

Curt. I did, sir. 

Pet. You rascal you, 'tis not mutton ! 'tis the 
breast of a dog ! What curs are these ! 'Tis dried 
and burnt to a coal, too ! Where is this rascal 
cook 1 ? How dare you bring such rotten meat to 

* There still exists the vulgar belief, that if two persons 
wash their hands in the same vessel, they are certain to 
quarrel shortly. 



358 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 



my table 1 Why, d'ye mean to poison me, ye 
heedless joltheads, ye ill-mannered whelps 1 What ! 
d'ye grumble 1 — I'll be with you straight. 

Mar. Pray, husband, be content. The meat is 
good meat, and I am very hungry; I must and 
will eat some of it. 

Pet. Not for the world, Peg ; I love thee better 
than so. 'Tis burnt, and will engender choler, a 
disease we are both too subject to. I love thee too 
well to give thee anything to hurt thee. We'll fast 
to-night ; to-morrow we'll make it up. 

Mar. Say what you will, sir, I'll eat some of it ! 
Did you bring me hither to starve me ? 

Pet. Why, ye rascals, will ye stand still and see 
your mistress poison herself 1 ? Take it away out 
of her sight quickly ! 

[Throws the meat at them ; Sauny gets it. 

Sau. Gud, Saundy will venture, poison an 
't will ! 

Pet. Well, Peg, this night we'll fast for com- 
pany. Come, I'll bring thee to the bridal chamber. 

Mar. ~ 
— but an egg. 

Pet. No, no ; prithee don't talk on't ! 
upon a full stomach 1 

Mar. But a crust of bread. 

Pet. To-morrow, to-morrow, 
away. 

Geo. Didst ever see the like 1 

Curt. He kills her in her own humour. 

Phil. Have you said grace, Sauny 1 

Sau. Gud, I was sea hungry I forgot grace. — O 
thou that hast filled our boyes and our blathers, 
keep us a' from whoredom and secrecy. 

Nick. Secrecy ? Why, Sauny 1 

Sau. Wuns, man, it is wutchcraft ! Peace ! you 



I must eat something, I shall be sick else , 



To bed 



Come, 



prithee, 

[Exeunt. 



SATINY THE SCOT. 359 

put me out, with the deil's name to ye ! — Keep us 
a' from whoredom and secrecy. Fro' the dinger o' 
the swatch to the gallow-tree. keep us a', we be- 
seech thee. — Tak' a drink, man. 

Phil. Are ye full now, Sauny % 

Sau. As fow as a piper. Ye may put ean finger 
in at my mouth, and another in mine a . . e, and feel 
beath ends o' my dinner. [Exeunt. 

Enter, as in a Bed-chamber Petruchio, Peg, 
Servants, and Sauny. 

Pet. Where are you, you rogues 1 Some lights 
there ! — Come, Peg, undress ; to bed, to bed ! 

Mar. Pray send your men away, and call for 
some of your maids. 

Pet. Maids 1 hang maids ! I have no such ver- 
min about my house ; any of these will do as well. 
Here, Sauny ! Come hither, sirrah, and undress 
your mistress. 

Sau. 0' my saul, sir, I'se put on my headpiece. 
Now, an ye'll bind her hands behind her, I'se 
undress her. [Goes to take up her coats. 

Pet. What dost thou do? 

Sau. In Scotland we a' ways begin at the nether 
end of a bonny lass. 

Pet. Who made this bed? What, rascals, are 
these 1 Foh, these sheets are musty as the devil ! 
and what rags are here upon my bed ! Is this a 
counterpane % — 'tis a dishclout ! 

Mar. Why, the counterpane is well enough and 
rich enough, and the sheets are as clean and as 
sweet as may be. 

Pet. Fie, fie, Peg ! thou hast got a cold, and lost 
thy smelling. I tell thee they are all damp and 
musty ; I would not have thee to venture to lie in 
'em for the world, it would be thy death. — Here, 



360 SAUNY THE SCOT. 

take 'em away ! — We must e'en sit up ; there's no 
remedy. 

Mar. Pray, sir, talk not of sitting up ; I am so 
sleepy I can't hold my eyes open. I must to bed. 

Pet. I'll keep thee waking, I warrant thee. — Ho, 
Curtis ! bring us a flagon of March beer, and some 
tobacco and clean pipes ; we'll be merry. 

[Exit Curtis. 

Mar. Why, what d'ye mean 1 Are you mad 1 

Pet. Mad 1 — ay, what should we do — I mean 
thou and 1 1 hand to fist we'll drink a health to my 
father, and my sister, and all our good friends at 
London. 

Enter Servant with beer and tobacco. 

Mar. Why, you don't take me to be one of 
your fellow tosspots 1 

Pet. I mean to teach thee to drink : thou must 
learn that, or thou'rt no wife for me. Here, Peg ! 
to thee with all my heart, a whole one, and thou 
art welcome. My father's good health ; Peg, you 
shall pledge it. 

Mar. I can't drink without eating ; 'twill make 
me sick. 

Pet. Pish, pish ! that's but a fancy. Come ! off 
Avith it, or thou shalt neither eat nor drink this 
month. 

Mar. Shall I go to bed when I have drank it ? 

Sau. Gud, at ye gi' Saundy a little drink, 
madam ? 

Pet. Talk of that anon. — [She drinks.] — So — 
here, Peg, here's a pipe I've filled for thee myself ; 
sit down and light it ! 

Mar. D'ye mean to make a mere hackney horse 
of me 1 What d'ye offer me your nasty tobacco for? 

Pet. Nay, ne'er make so shy ; I know thou 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 361 

lov'st it. Come ; young ladies are often troubled 
with the toothache, and take it in their chambers, 
though they won't appear good fellows amongst 
us. Take it, or no sleep nor meat, Peg. D'ye 
hear 1 

Mar. Yes, to my grief. I won't be abused thus ! 

[Weeps. 

Pet. Nay, nay, go where thou wilt, I'll make 
thee smoke before I sleep. [Exeunt. 



Act iv. 
Enter Petruchio and Sauny. 

Pet. Sirrah, wait on your mistress ! Say what 
you will to her, and vex her, but do not touch her ; 
and let her have no meat, I charge ye ! 

Sau. 'Sbreed, sir, send her into the Highlands 
in Scotland ; there's hunger and caud enough ; 
there she may starve her bally fu'. 

Pet. Well, sirrah, do as I direct you. [Exit. 

Sau. 0' my saul wull I, sir. Ye'll let me take 
my headpiece to defend me, sir 1 

Enter Margaret. 

Mar. What ! Gregory ! Philip ! — Nobody near 
me 1 Sauny, where are you 1 

Sau. I'se e'en hard at your a . . e, madam. 

Mar. Where's your master 1 

Sau. He's gone to the market himself, and he'll 
bring ye beam a braw bull's puzzle to swaddle your 
weam with. 

Mar. And in the meantime I am famished.— 
Was ever woman used so damnably 1 I am 



362 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 



starved for meat, giddy for want of sleep ; and that 
which spites me more than all the rest is, he pre- 
tends 'tis out of care and love to me. — Prithee, 
good Sauny, give me some meat ! 

Sau. 0' my saul, Saundy would be hanged gin 
I sud bestow an auld liquored bute ; Sauny will 
cut it into tripes to stuff your weam with. 

Mar. Good Sauny, here's money for thee. But 
one little bit of anything to stay my fainting 
spirits. 

Sau. What will ye eat ? — a bit of beef? 

Mar. Ay, good Sauny. 

Sau. Will ye eat some mustard to 't 1 

Mar. Ay, good Sauny, quickly. 

Sau. Mustard is nea gued for your tang ; 'twill 
make it tea keen, and ye can soaud fast enough 
without. 

Mar. Why, then, the beef without mustard. 

Sau. Gud, beef is nea gued without mustard. 
Sauny will fetch ye some meal and water ; ye'st 
make ye a Scotch pudding ; ye'st eat of that tull 
your weam crack. 

Mar. You abusive rogue, take that ! — [Beats him.] 
— Must I be braved thus by my own servant ? 

Sau. The deil wash your face with a fou' clout. 

Enter Geraldo. 

Ger. Why, how now, sirrah ! will you strike 
your mistress 1 You cowardly rogue — strike a 
woman 1 

Sau. 'Sbreed, sir, d'ye ca' a Scotchman a coward 1 
Gin I'se had ye in Scotland, I'se put my whinyard 
in your weam gin ye were as stout as Gilderoy. 

Ger. Why, Gilderoy was as arrant a coward as 
thou art. 

Sau. Wuns, ye'd be lath to keep the grund 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 363 

that Gilderoy quits ; yet I must confess he was a 
little shamefaced before the enemy. 

Mar. Oh, Mr. Geraldo, never was poor woman 
so used ! For charity sake, convey me home to my 
father ! 

Enter Petruchio with a dish of meat. 

Pet. Here, Peg, here's meat for thee. I have 
dressed it myself, my dear. — Geraldo, welcome ! 
This was kindly done, to visit Peg and me. — Come, 
Peg, fall to ; here's an excellent piece of veal. 

Mar. Why, 'tis a pullet. 

Pet. Why, 'tis veal. Art thou mad ? 

Mar. You won't persuade me out of my senses. 
'Tis a pullet. 

Sau. A gud is it, sir. 

Pet. What an unhappy man am I ! my poor 
dear Peg's distracted ! I always feared 'twould 
come to this. — Take the meat away, Curtis. Is 
the room ready as I ordered? are the lights 
dammed up ? 

Curt. Yes, sir. 

Mar. Why, what d'ye mean to do with me 1 

Pet. Poor Peg, I pity thee ; but thou shalt 
want no help for thy cure. You must be kept 
from the light ; it troubles the brain. 

Ger. I see I shall learn ; he's an excellent 
teacher. 

Mar. Why, sir, pray tell me, have you a mind 
to make me mad 1 This is the way indeed. How 
have I injured you that you use me thus in- 
humanly 1 Did you marry me to starve me 1 

Sau. He means to bring down your weam for a 
race ; for we a'ways cry, A nag with a weam, but 
a mare with nean. 

Pet. No, no, good Peg ; thou know'st I have a 



364 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 



care of thee. Here's a gown just brought home 
for thee, Peg. Now thou art empty, it will sit 
handsomely. — Where is this tailor ? Call him in, 
Sauny ! — If it fits you, you shall put it on and we'll 
gallop o'er to London, and see your father. Your 
sister's wedding is at hand ; you must help her. 

Enter Tailor with a gown. 

Mar. If she be matched as I am, heaven help 
her ! But there's some comfort in going home ; 
there's meat and sleeping room. 

Pet. Come, tailor, let's see the gown. How 
now, what's here? Bless me, what masquing 
suit is this? What's this? — a sleeve? Why, 'tis 
like a demi-cannon. Why, what a devil, tailor, 
dost thou mean ? — is this a gown ? 

Tail. A gown, sir ? Yes, sir ; and a handsome 
gown as any man in London can make ; 'tis the 
newest fashion lately come out of France. 

Pet. What a lying knave art thou ! My great- 
grandmother's picture in the matted gallery is just 
such another. 

Sau, It is like the picture of Queen Margaret in 
Edinbrough Castle, sir. 

Mar. I never saw a better fashioned gown in 
my life, more quaint,* nor better shaped. I like 
the gown, and I'll have this gown or I'll have 
none. Say what you will, I like it ; 'tis a hand- 
some gown ! 

Pet. Why, thou say'st true, Peg; 'tis an ugly, 
paltry gown. I am glad to hear thee of my mind ; 
'tis a beastly gown. 

Mar. Why, I say 'tis a good gown, a handsome, 
fashionable gown. What! d'ye mean to make a 
puppet of me ? 

* Modish. Ed. 1708. 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 365 

Pet. Ay, this fellow would make a puppet of 
thee. 

Tail. She says your worship means to make a 
puppet of her. 

Pet. Thou impudent, lying, thread, bodkin and 
thimble flea ! thou nit ! brave me in my own 
house 1 Go ; take it ! I'll ha' none on't. 

Tail. Sir, I made it according to your directions, 
and I cannot take it again. 

Sau. Tak' it awa', or the deil o' my lugs but 
ye'st tak' my whinyard ! 

Mar. He shall not take it again. What need 
you trouble yourself about it as long as it pleases 
me %— Lay it down there. 

Pet. Sirrah, take it away, I say ; we shall find 
more tailors. I won't have my wife so anticly 
dressed that the boys should hoot at her. 

Mar. Come, come, all this is but fooling ; you 
don't understand what belongs to a gown. Say 
what you will, I'm resolved to have it ; if it were 
an ugly one I would wear it, an it were but to 
cross you ! 

Salt. Now the deil's a cruppen untill her mouth, 
sir ; you may see a little of his tail hang out — it 
looks for a' the world an it were a sting, sir. 

Pet. Why, that's my good Peg ; I know thou 
dost not care for it. Say no more, prithee ; thou 
shalt have another. 

Mar. I know not what you mean to do with 
me, but methinks I might have leave to speak, 
and speak I will ! I am no child, no baby ! Your 
betters have endured me to speak my mind, and 
if you cannot you had best stop your ears; 'tis 
better set my tongue at liberty than let my heart 
break. 

Pet. Speak, Peg, by all means ; say what thou 



366 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 



wilt. — Sirrah, carry that tawdry thing away. — 
Geraldo, tell him you'll see him paid — [aside] — 
and bid him leave it. — Come, what say'st thou, 

_1 

Ger. Leave the gown in the next room, tailor, 
and take no notice of what he says ; I'll see you 
paid for't. [Aside. Exit Tailor. 

Mar. Why, I say I will have that gown, and 
everything I have a mind for ! I did not bring 
you such a portion to be made a fool of ! 

Pet. Very true ! thou'rt in the right, Peg. Come, 
let's to horse; these clothes will serve turn at pre- 
sent till we can get better. — Go, sirrah, lead the 
horses to the land's end ; thither we'll walk afoot. 
— Let's see, I think 'tis about seven o'clock : we 
shall reach to my father-in-law's by dinner-time 
with ease. 

Mar. 'Tis almost two; you cannot get thither 
by supper-time. 

Pet. It shall be seven ere I go ! Why, what a 
mischief's this? — what I say or do you are still 
crossing it. — Let the horses alone ! I will not go 
to-day, and ere I do it shall be what o'clock I 
please. ■ 

Mar. Nay, sir, that shan't stop our journey; 'tis 
seven, or two, or nine, or what o'clock you please. 
Pray let's go. 

Sau. Ye's have it what hour you wull, sir. 

Pet. Very well, it is so ; get ready quickly. — 
Come, Geraldo, let's all go ; we shall help mend 
the mirth at my sister's wedding. 

Ger. I'll wait on you. 

Pet. Come, Peg, get on your things ! 

Mar. Let me but once see Lincoln's Inn Fields 
again, and yet thou shalt not tame me ! [Exeunt. 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 367 

Enter Tranio and Snatchpenny. 

Tra. Now, sirrah, be but impudent enough, and 
keep state like the old knight, and thou art made 
for ever. 

Snatch. I warrant ye, sir, I know it to a hair. 
My Lord Beaufoy and I were schoolfellows together 
at Worcester ; my estate lies in the vale of Eves- 
ham — three thousand pound a year, and fifteen 
hundred a year I settle upon you upon the mar- 
riage. Let me alone ! I am Sir Lyonel himself. 

Tra. Right, right ! Excellent brave ! — How now 1 

Enter Jamy. 

Jamy. To your postures, old sinner ! Be an 
exquisite rascal, and then thou shalt be a rogue 
paramount. Thou shalt lay the dragon asleep 
while my master steals the pippins. 

Tra. Well, Jamy, what hast thou done 1 

Jamy. I have been with my Lord Beaufoy, pre- 
sented your father's and your service to him, and 
told him the old knight was happily come to 
town, and, hearing of your love to Biancha, was so 
overjoyed he would settle all upon you. 

Tra. Well, and what said he 1 

Jamy. He gave me a piece* for my news. I told 
him Sir Lyonel desired his company just now to 
treat upon the match. He's coming in all haste ; 
he longs to be cozened, and, Snatchpenny, if 
thou dost not do it — 

Snatch. Then hang me. 

Jamy. Mum, look to't ; he's here ! 

Enter Beaufoy and Winlove. 
Beau. Mr. Winlove, your man tells me your 

* Guinea. Ed. 1708. 



368 SAUNY THE SCOT. 

father is just happily come to town. Where is 
he? 

Tra. Here, sir ; this is my father; Time has 
been too bold to wear ye out of each other's 
memory. 

Snatch. Is this my Lord Beaufoy, sir % 

tra. Yes, sir. 

Snatch. My Lord, your humble servant! I'm 
happy at last to meet a person I have formerly 
so much loved. 

Beau. Noble Sir Lyonel, I joy to see you. 

Snatch. Oh ! the merry days that you and I have 
seen, my Lord ! Well fare the good old times, I say ! 

Beau. Ay, Sir Lyonel, when you and I were 
acquainted first. 

Snatch. Ay, marry, these were golden days in- 
deed — no cozening, no cheating. The world is 
altered. 

Beau. But we will remember these times, and 
be honest still. 

Snatch. That's e'en the best Way. There's 
hopes we may have honest grandchildren too, if 
all be true as I hear. My son tells me your 
daughter has made a captive of him. 

Beau. I would she were better for his sake. 
She's a good girl, and a handsome one, though I 
say it ; if she were not, I would give her some- 
what should make her so. 

Tra. It takes rarely. [Aside. 

Snatch. I'm even overjoyed that you think my 
son worthy your alliance. I'll give something 
they shall make a shift to live on. In plain, and in 
brief, if you'll approve of it, I'll settle fifteen hun- 
dred pounds a year upon him at present, which 
shall be her jointure; after my death, all I have 
with a good will. What say }'ou, my Lord 1 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 369 

Beau. Sir Lyonel, your freedom pleases me ; 
I see you are an honest- meaning gentleman. The 
young folks, if I am not mistaken, like one another. 
Well, I say no more ; it is a match. 

Tra. You bind me to you ever ; now I may 
boldly say I am truly happy. Where will you 
please to have the business made up? 

Beau. Not in my house, son ; I would have it 
private. Pitchers have ears, and I have many 
servants ; besides, old Woodall will be hindering 
of us. He's hearkening still, and will be interrupt- 
ing. 

Tra. Then at my lodging ; there my father lies, 
and there the business may be all dispatched. 
Send for your daughter by this gentleman; my 
boy shall fetch a scrivener presently. The worst 
on 't is, 'tis too small a warning ; you are like to 
have but slender entertainment. 

Beau. No matter, no matter ; I shall like it. 

Snatch. I would fain see your daughter, my 
Lord ; I have heard great commendations of her. 

Beau,. That you shall presently. — Monsieur, 
pray go to Biancha, and tell her from me she 
must come hither with you immediately. You 
may tell her too, if you will, what has happened, 
and that she must prepare to be Mr. Winlove's 
bride. 

Win. My Lord, me vill fetch her presant. 

Tra. My Lord, will your Lordship please to walk 
in with my father % This is my lodging. 

Beau. Ay, sir. — Come, Sir Lyonel, I'll follow 
you. 

Snatch Good my Lord, I will wait upon you. 
[Exeunt Beaufoy, Snatchpenny, and Tranio. 

Win. Thus far 'tis well carried on, Jamy ; but 
how shall we prosecute it 1 
2 A 



370 SAUNY THE SCOT. 

Jamy. Why, there is but one way in the world, 
sir. 

Win. And what's that % 

Jamy. Why, thus : I have got a parson ready 
for the purpose ; when you have got Biancha 
abroad, whip her into Covent Garden Church, and 
there marry her, and your work's done. 

Win. Troth, thou say'st true. But is the parson 
orthodox and canonical 1 ? I would not have an 
Obadiah to make us enter into covenant of matri- 
mony. 

Jamy. Trust me, sir, he's as true as steel. He 
says all matrimony without book — he can chris- 
ten, wed, and bury blindfold. 

Win. Well, I'll take thy counsel, if I can per- 
suade her to 't, as I hope I shall, for I know she 
loves me. Fair luck betides me. — But who comes 
here 1 ? 

Enter Woodall. 

Jamy. 'Tis the old grub, Woodall. What shall 
we do with him 1 

Win. We must contrive some way to get him 
off. 

Wood. I don't like those shuffling matters ; I 
doubt there's some false play towards me in hand. 
Here's my Monsieur ! he may inform me. — Mon- 



sieur 



Win. Che diet a vouz, Monsieur? Monsieur, 
your servant ! 

Wood. Monsieur, prithee tell me, if thou canst, 
how affairs go ? Things are carried very closely. 
How stands my mistress affected 1 

Win. Moi foi, Monsieur, me tell you de bad 
news in the varle. Mademoiselle Biancha no 
stand affected to you at all. My Lord has sent 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 371 

me to fetch her just now to be marry to Monsieur 
-^vat you call — Monsieur Le 

Wood. What ! not to Winlove 1 

Win. Yes, to Monsieur Winlove. Begar, me be 
very sorry, but me canno help dat. 

Wood. Is old Beaufoy mad, to match her to him 
without his father's privity 1 

Win. Here be de ver fine old man new come to 
town ; me Lord be wid him now. 

Wood. Upon my life ! old Sir Lyonel % Nay, 
then, she's lost quite. Hark you, Monsieur; yet 
'tis in your power to make me a happy man. 

Win. Oh, Monsieur, me be your humble servant. 

Wood. Why, look you, you are to fetch her — 
here's forty pound in gold* to buy you a pair of 
gloves — let me take her from you as you are 
carrying her thither. I will have two or three 
with me, and you may safely say she was forced 
from you. 

Win. Monsieur, begar, me do you all de service 
in the varle ; but me sail be the grand sheat knave 
then. 

Wood. That's nothing. Here's more money ; I'll 
save you harmless. Come, you shall do it. 

Win. Monsieur, me have no mind to be van 
knave ; but to do you service, if you will meet me 
upon de street — 

Wood. Fear not, I'll secure you. Honest Mon- 
sieur, farewell ; I will be your friend for ever. 

[Exit. 

Win. Ha, ha, ha ! this is rare. What an ass 
this fellow will make himself, do what we can ! 
Here, Jamy, thou shalt share with me. 

Jamy. Thank you, sir ; would we had such a 
windfall every day. But come, sir, you must 
* Guineas. Ed. 1708. 



372 SAUNY THE SCOT. 

make haste. This is the critical minute ; if you 
miss it, you lose Biancha. 

Win. Thy counsel's good ; away ! I'll buy a 
ring and pay the priest with some of WoodalFs 
money. Ha, ha, ha ! [Exeunt 

Enter Petruchio, Margaret, Geraldo, and 

Sauny. 

Pet. Walk your horses down the hill before ; we 
shall reach London time enough. 'Tis a fair night ; 
how bright and goodly the moon shines ! 

Mar. The moon % — the sun ; 'tis not the moon- 
light now. 

Pet. I say 'tis the moon that shines so bright. 

Mar. I say 'tis the sun that shines so bright. 

Pet. Now, by my mother's son, and that's my- 
self, it shall be the moonlight, or what I please, 
before you set sight of your father's house. — Sirrah, 
go fetch the horses back ! — Evermore crossed, and 
crossed, and nothing but crossed. 

Ger. Say as he says, or we shall never go. 

Mar. Forward, I pray sir, since we are come so 
far, and be it sun, or moon, or what you please. 
Nay, if you call it a rush-candle, henceforth it 
shall be so for me. 

Pet. I say 'tis the moon. 

Sau. 'Sbreed ! but I say nay, sir. Out, out ! a' 
lies. 

Mar. I know 'tis the moon. 

Pet. Nay, then, you lie ; 'tis the blessed sun. 

Mar. Why, Heaven be blessed for't, 'tis even 
what you have a mind to. Pray, let us forward. 

Ger. Petruchio, go thy ways, the field is won. 

Pet. Well, forward, forward ! Now the bowl 
runs with a right bias ; — but soft, here's company ! 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 373 



Enter Sir Lyonel Winlove. 

Lyon. Boy, bid the coachman drive gently down 
the hill. I wonder I meet nor overtake no pas- 
sengers to-day. Stay ! I think here be some. 

Pet. I will have one bout more with thee, Peg. — 
Good-morrow, gentle lady ; which way travel you 1 
— Gome hither, Peg. Didst thou ever behold so 
exquisite a beauty as this fair virgin bears about 1 
Go to her, Peg, and salute her. 

Mar. Are you mad 1 'tis an old man. 

Pet. Beat back again, then ; — still cross ? "Will 
you do it 1 

Sau. Why, i' th' deil's name, what mean ye 1 
Its nea bonny lass, sir. 'Sbreed, its an a' fa' 
thief! 

Ger. He'll make this old man mad. 

Mar. You budding virgin, so fair, so sweet, so 
fresh, which way travel you 1 How happy should 
we be in the enjoyment of so fair a fellow tra- 
veller ! 

Sau. The deil has built a bird's nest in your 
head. Gud, ye're as mad as he ; and he as mad as 
gin he were the son of a March hare, sir. 

Lyon. Why, what do ye mean, gentlewoman 1 

Pet. Why, now, now, Peg, I hope thou art not 
mad ! A virgin, quotha 1 'tis an old, wrinkled, 
withered man. 

Mar. Eeverend sir, pardon my mistaking eyes, 
that have been so dazzled with the moon — sun, I 
mean — I could not distinguish you. I now per- 
ceive you are a grave old man ; pray, excuse me. 

Lyon. Indeed you are a merry lady. Your 
encounter has amazed me ; but I like such cheer- 
ful company. I am for London, to see a son of 
mine that went lately from me thither. 



374 



SAUNY THE SGOT. 



Pet. We shall be glad of your company. You 
must pardon my wife's error; she has not slept 
well to-night, and I could not persuade her but 
she would come out fasting, which makes her 
fancy a little extravagant. 

Sau. The deil o' my saul, but you are a false 
trundle-tail tyke. The deil a bit he'd lat her eat 
these three days, sir. 

Mar. Curse upon your excuse and the cause of 
it ! I could have eaten my shoe soles if I might 
have had 'em fried. 

Pet. Your name, I beseech you, sir 1 

Lyon. I am called Sir Lyonel Winlove in the 
country. 

Pet. Father to young Mr. Winlove % 

Lyon. The same, sir. 

Pet. Then I am happy indeed to have met you. 
I can tell you some news perhaps may not be 
unwelcome to you. Your son is in a fair proba- 
bility of calling me brother within these two days. 

Lyon. How so, I pray, sir 1 

Pet. Why, he's upon marrying my wife's sister, 
my Lord Beaufoy's youngest daughter — a brave 
match, I can assure you, and a sweet bedfellow ! 

Sau. Gud, she's tea gued for any man but 
Saundy. Gud, gin poor Saundy had her in Scot- 
land, wuns ! I'd sea swing her about ! 

Lyon. You amaze me ! Is this true 1 or have 
you a mind, like a pleasant traveller, to break a 
jest on the company you overtake 1 

Ger. Upon my word, sir, 'tis very true. 'Twas so 
designed, but I don't think he'll marry her ; he's 
forsworn if he do. 

Lyon. You make me wonder more and more. 

Pet. Mind him not ! he's a party concerned ; 'tis 
true. 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 375 

Lyon. Pray, gentlemen, let's make haste; I 
must look after this business. It sounds strangely ; 
he would not do 't without my consent. He's my 
only son, my heir, the prop of my family. I must 
be careful. 

Pet. I see you are jealous, sir, but you need not ; 
he cannot have a better match. 

Lyon. I doubt it not, if all be fair. I should be 
glad of my Lord Beaufoy's alliance. He was my 
schoolfellow, but time, I doubt, has worn out our 
old acquaintance. Gentlemen, I must hasten to 
prevent the worst. 

Sau. What mean ye, sir? Ye will nea bawk 
the bonna lad, and tak' fro' his mattle, sir 1 

Ger. Well, Petruchio, thou hast put me in a 
heat. Have at my widow now ! [Exeunt. 

Enter Winlove, Biancha, and Jamy. 

Win. How good you are, my fair one ! — Jamy, 
art sure the priest is ready for us 1 

Jamy. I warrant you, sir. Pray make haste ; 
some devil or other may come else and cross it. 
Don't stay thrumming of caps. Here ! body o' me, 
away ! Here's Woodall ! shift for yourselves — all 
will be spoiled else. 

[Exeunt Winlove and Biancha. 

Enter Woodall with three or four Fellows. 

Wood. Be sure you seize on her, and clap her 
into a chair, and one stop her mouth. Fear not ! 
I'll save you harmless. 

1 Eel. I warrant you, sir. 

Wood. What a devil makes this rogue poaching 
here] 

Jamy. Turn, te dum, te dum ! Sing old Coale of 
London. [Sings. 



376 SAUNY THE SCOT. 

Wood. Now, Jamy, what walk you here for % 

Jamy. Why, to look about me. — Te dum, te 
dum, etc. 

Wood. They say your master is to be married to 
Madam Eiancha to-day. 

Jamy. Why, then, we'll be merry at night. — Te 
dum, te dum, etc. 

Wood. The rogue won't be gone. — What ! hast 
no business? Thou look'st as if thou hadst not 
drank to-day. There's something for thee; go, 
get thy morning's draught. 

Jamy. I thank your worship. Will you take 
part of a pot of ale and a toast ! 

Wood. No, sirrah ! I drank coffee this morning. 

[Exit Jamy. 
So, he's gone ! I wonder Monsieur appears not 
with Biancha. 

Enter Petruchio, Margaret, Sir Lyonel, 
Geraldo, and Sauny, with Attendants. 

Wood. Ha ! Who comes there % 

Ger. Now you are there, I'll take my leave. 
Your servant. [Exit. 

Pet. Sir Lyonel, you are welcome to town. 
There's your son's lodgings ! my father lives on 
the other side. Thither we must, and therefore 
here I take my leave. 

Lyon. Pray, stay a little ! maybe he's not within. 
If so, I'll wait upon you to the Lord Eeaufoy. 

Sau. 0' my saul, nea ean could have begged 
[Knocks] dunner better than this au'd thief has done. 

Wood. They are all busy within, sir ; you must 
knock louder if you mean to be heard. 

[Snatchpenny above. 

Snatch. Who is that knocks as if he would beat 
down the gate ? 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 377 

■ Lyon. Is Mr. Winlove within 1 

Snatch. He is within, but not to be spoken with. 

Lyon. What if a man bring him a hundred 
pounds or two to make merry withal ? 

Snatch. Keep your hundred pounds for yourself ; 
he shall need none as long as I live. 

Pet. Nay, I told you, sir, your son was well 
beloved in London. — D'ye hear, sir? Leaving 
your frivolous circumstances, pray tell him his 
father's just now come out of the country to see 
him, and is here at the door to speak with him. 

Snatch. That is a lie, sir. His father came to 
town yesterday, and is now here looking out at 
window. 

Lyon. The devil he is ! Are you his father? 

Snatch. Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may 
believe her. 

Sau. Can they hang him for having twa 
fathers, sir? Gud, and 'twas sea, poor Saundy 
would be hanged, sure enough ! 

Pet. Why, hast thou two fathers 1 

Sau. Gud have I, and twa and twa to that, sir. 

Pet. Why, how now, gentlemen 1 this is flat 
knavery, to take another man's name upon you. 

Snatch. Lay hands upon this villain ! I believe 
he means to cheat somebody here under my coun- 
ter-name. 

Enter Jamy. 

Jamy. I have seen the Church on their back ; 
send them good speeding. — Ha! how now? — my 
old master, Sir Lyonel ! — 'Sfoot, we are all lost, 
undone ! I must brazen it out. 

Lyon. Come hither, Crack-hemp. 

Jamy. You may save me that labour, and come 
to me, if you have anything to say to me. 



378 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 



Lyon. Come hither, you rogue ! What ! have 
you forgot me 1 

Jamy. Forgot you, sir 1 I could not forget you, 
for I never saw you in all my life before. 

Lyon. You notorious villain ! didst thou never 
see thy master's father, Sir Lyonel Winlove 1 

Jamy. What ! my worshipful old master ] Yes, 
marry, sir. See where his worship looks out of 
the window. 

Lyon. Does he so, sir 1 I'll make you find him 
below stairs. [Beats him. 

Jamy. Help, help ! here's a madman will murder 
me ! 

Sau. Dea ca' yoursel' Jamy, and wull ye be 
beten by an a' fa' thief] An ye ca' yoursel' Jamy 
eance meare, I'se bang ye tea cloots ; breed a gud 
will I, sir ! 

Snatch. Help, son ! help, brother Beaufoy ! — 
Jamy will be killed. 

Pet. Prithee, Peg, stand by to see this contro- 
versy. 

Enter Snatchpenny with Servants, Beaufoy, 
and Tranio. 

Tra. 'Sheart, 'tis Sir Lyonel ! but we must bear 
it a little. — Sir, what are you that offer to beat 
my servant ? 

Lyon. What am I, sir] Nay, what are you, sir % 
— Heaven, what do I see % Oh, fine villains, I'm 
undone ! While I play the good husband at home 
in the country, my son and my servants spend my 
estate lavishly at London. 

Sau. Your son sail allow you siller to keep an 
au'd wutch to rub your shins ; and what to anger 
would ye ha' meer, sir 1 

Tra. How now, what's the matter ] 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 379 

Beau. Is the man frantic % 

Tra. Sir, you seem a sober, ancient gentleman 
by your habit, but your words show you a mad- 
man. Why, sir, what concerns it you what rich 
clothes I wear 1 I thank my good father I am 
able to maintain it. 

Lyon. Thy father ] Oh, villain ! he's a hemp- 
dresser in Partha. 

Sau. Marra, the deil stuff his weam fu' o' hemp, 
and his dam spin it out at his a . . e. 

Beau. You mistake, you mistake. What d'ye 
think his name is % 

Lyon. His name 1 — as if I knew not his name. I 
have bred him up e'er since he was three years 
old, and his name is Tranio. 

Snatch. Away, away, mad ass ! His name is 
Winlove, my only son, and heir to all my estate in 
the vale of Evesham. 

Lyon. Heavens ! he has murdered his master. 
Lay hold on him, I charge you, in the King's name ! 
Oh, my son ! — Tell me, thou villain ! where is my 
son, Winlove 1 

Tra. Run for an officer to carry this mad knave 
to the jail ! Lay hold on him, I charge ye, and see 
him forthcoming. 

Sau. Awa', awa' with the hampdresser, sir. 

Lyon. Carry me to the jail, ye villains ? 

Pet. Hold, gentlemen. — Your blessing, father 1 

Beau. Son Petruchio, welcome. You have it, 
and you, Peg. How d'ye 1 Know ye anything of 
this matter ? 

Pet. My Lord, take heed what you do. So much 
I know, I dare swear this is Sir Lyonel Winlove, 
and that a counterfeit. 

Sau. Wuns, I think sea tea. Gud, an' ye 
please, I'se take the covenant on't. 



380 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 



Wood. So durst I swear too, almost. 
, Snatch. Swear if thou durst ! 

Wood. Sir, I dare not swear point-blank. 

Tra. You had best swear I am not Winlove 
neither. 

Wood. Yes. I know jou to be Mr. Winlove. 

Beau. Away with the dotard ! to the jail with 
him ! 

Lyon. Are you all settled to do mischief to me 1 
Why, my Lord Beaufoy, methinks you might 
know me. 

Tra. Away with him to my lodgings for the 
present, till we can get a constable to charge him 
upon. We shall have a hubbub in the streets. 
Drag him, I say. 

Lyon. Eogues, villains, murderers ! I shall have 
justice. [Exeunt with Sir Lyonel. 

Wood (Manet.) These are strange passages ! I 
know not what to think of 'em. But I am glad 
Biancha came not when they were here. Sure my 
Monsieur will not fail me. 

Enter Winlove and Biancha. 

Win. Now, my Biancha, I am truly happy ; our 
loves shall, like the spring, be ever growing. 

Bian. But how shall we escape my father's 
anger % 

Win. Fear not ; I'll warrant thee. 

Wood. Oh, here's Biancha ! — How now, Mon- 
sieur brave, what fancy's this ? 

Win. Oh, Monsieur, te vous la menes. How 
d'ye do, good Mr. WoodalH How d'ye like my 
new bride 1 

Wood. How, how, how, sir 1 — your bride 1 Seize 
on her quickly. 

Win. Hands off ! She's my wife ; touch her 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 38 1 

who dares ! "Will you have your teeth picked % 
What d'ye think of giving twenty pieces* to teach 
your mistress French 1 

Wood. Ob, rogue, I'll have thee hanged ! 

Win. Or forty pieces* to buy a pair of gloves 
to let you steal Madam Biancha % This ring was 
bought with some of it — ha, ha, ha ! 

Wood. Down with him ! — down with him ! — a 
damned rascal ! 

Win. Ay, do. Which of you has a mind to 
breathe a vein % 

2 Eel. Nay, if she be his wife, we dare not 
touch her. 

Wood. I'll fetch somebody that shall. Oh, 
devil ! [Exit. 

Win. Ay, do. I am your poor Monsieur; ha, 
ha, ha ! — Fear not, Biancha ; he'll fetch 'em all, I 
know. I warrant thee we shall appease thy 
father easily. 

Bian. Trust me, sir, I fear the storm. 

Enter Beaufoy, Tranio, Petruchio, Margaret, 
Sauny, Snatchpenny, Jamy, Sir Lyonel, 
Woodall, and Attendants. 

Wood. That rogue, that damned counterfeit 
Frenchman, has stolen your daughter and married 
her ! Here they are. 

Win. Bless me ! What do I see yonder 1 my 
father in earnest % Dear sir, your blessing and 
your pardon. 

Lyon. My dear son, art thou alive 1 then take it. 

Bian. I must beg your pardon too, sir. 

Win. And I, most honoured father. 

Beau. Why, what's the matter 1 ? — what hast 
* Guineas. Ed. 1708. 



382 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 



thou done 1 Woodall tells me thou hast married 
the Frenchman. 

Win. Me she has married, but no Frenchman. 
The right Winlove, son to the right Winlove, is 
her husband and your son-in-law. 

Sau. 'Sbreed, sir, ye act twa parts ; ye were but 
a hampdresser in the last act, sir. 

Snatch. Tis time for us to be going ; I feel one 
ear going off already. [Exit. 

Beau. You amaze me ! Are not you the 
Frenchman Mr. Woodall preferred to teach my 
daughter 1 

Bian. No, my Lord ; he put on that disguise to 
court me ; he is the true Winlove. 

Lyon. Marry is he my son, sir. 

Win. Those were but counterfeits of my 
making. 

Wood. Here's patching with a mistress. I'm 
sure I am gulled. 

Beau. But d'ye hear, sir 1 ? Have you married 
my daughter without my consent % 

Lyon. Come, my lord, now you must know me. 
I will beg both their pardons, and secure her a 
jointure worthy her birth and fortune. 

Win. You are a father now indeed. 

Beau. Sir Lyonel, excuse my rashness ; I accept 
your noble proffer. — You are forgiven ! 

Sau. 'Sbreed, sir, we sail ne'er go to dunner, 
sir. The deil forgat and forgive you a', sir. 

Lyon. But where is that rogue that would have 
sent me to jail 1 I'll slit his nose for him. 

Win. I must beg his pardon, for he did all for 
my sake. 

Lyon. Well, sir, for your sake I pardon him. 

Beau. Come, gentlemen all, to my house ; we 
shall there end all our doubts and drown our fears. 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 383 

Wood. Sir, I shall expect my money back again ; 
'tis enough to lose my mistress. 

Win. No, faith, 'tis in better hands already. 
You'll but fool it away ; you'll be hiring French- 
men again. 

Wood. Well, mock on ! I'll in, and eat out part 
of it. 

Beau. Come, gentlemen ! 

Mar. Husband, will you not go with my father ? 

Pet. First kiss me, Peg, and I will. 

Mar. What ! in the middle of the street % 

Pet. What ! art thou ashamed of me ? 

Mar. Not so, sir, but ashamed to kiss so openly. 

Pet. Why, then, let's home again. — Sauny, lead 
the way. 

Sau. Gud, the deil a bit will Saundy budge 
before dunner, sir. 

Mar. Nay, I will give thee a kiss ; nay, pray 
now, stay. 

Pet. So — is not this well ] Come, my sweet 
Peg. 

Bian. Sister, I hope we shall be friends now. 

Mar. I was never foes with you. 

Win. Come, fairest ! all the storms are over- 
blown. 
Love hath both wit and fortune of her own. 

[Exeunt. 

Act v. 

Enter Margaret and Biancha. 

Bian. But is't possible, sister, he should have 
used you thus 1 

Mar. Had I served him as bad as Eve did 
Adam, he could not have used me worse ; but I 



384 SAUNY THE SCOT. 

am resolved, now I'm got home again, I'll be re- 
venged. I'll muster up the spite of all the curs'd 
women since Noah's flood to do him mischief and 
add new vigour to my tongue. I have not pared 
my nails this fortnight ; they are long enough to 
do him some execution, that's my comfort. 

Bian. Bless me, sister, how you talk ! 

Mar. Thou art a fool, Biancha ! come, learn of 
me : thou art married to a man too ; thou dost 
not know hut thou mayest need my counsel, and 
make good use on't. Thy husband bears thee 
fair yet ; but take heed of going home with him, 
for, when once he has thee within his verge, 'tis 
odds he'll have his freaks too — there's no trusting 
these men. Thy temper is soft and easy ; thou 
must learn to break him, or he'll break thy heart. 

Bian. I must confess I should be loth to be so 
used ; but sure Mr. Winlove is of a better disposi- 
tion. 

Mar. Trust him and hang him ; they're all alike. 
Come, thou shalt be my scholar ; learn to frown 
and cry out for unkindness, but brave anger ; 
thou hast a tongue, make use on't — scold, fight, 
scratch, bite — anything. Still take exceptions at 
all he does, if there be cause or not ; if there be 
reason for't, he'll laugh at thee. I'll make 
Petruchio glad to wipe my shoes or walk my 
horse ere I have done with him. 

Enter Petruchio, Winlove, and Satjny. 

Bian. Peace, sister ! our husbands are both here. 

Mar. Thou child; I am glad on't, I'll speak 
louder. 

Pet. Well, brother Winlove, now we are truly 
happy. Never were men so blessed with two such 
wives. 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 385 

Win. I am glad to hear you say so, sir. My own 
I'm sure I'm blest in. 

Pet. Yours ? — why, Biancha's a lion, and Mar- 
garet a mere lamb to her. I tell thee, Winlove, 
there's no man living, though I say 't, — but 'tis no 
matter, since she does not hear me, — that has a wife 
so gentle and so active and affable. Poor thing, 
I durst be sworn she would walk barefoot a hun- 
dred miles to do me good. 

Mar. No, but she would not ; nor one mile 
neither. 

Sau. Now have at your lugs, sir ! 

Pet. Oh, Peg, art thou there 1 How dost thou 
do, my dear? 

Mar. You may go look ; what's that to you 1 

Sau. Stand o' yer guard, sir. Gud, Saundy will 
put on his headpiece. 

Pet. I am glad to hear thee say thou'rt well, in 
troth. 

Mar. Never the better for you, which you shall 
find. 

Pet. Nay, I know thou lov'st me. Prithee, take 
up my glove, Peg. 

Mar. I take up your glove 1 Marry come up ! 
command your servants. Look you, there it lies. 

Pet. I am glad to see thee merry, poor wanton 
rogue. 

Mar. Tis very well ; you think you are in the 
country, but you are mistaken. The case is altered; 
I am at home now, and my own disposer. Go, 
swagger at your greasy lubber there, your patient 
wife will make you no more sport ; she has a 
father will allow her meat and lodging, and an- 
other gaits * chambermaid than a Highlander. 

Sau. Gud, an ye were a-top o' Grantham Steeple, 

* Manner, kind of. 

2b 



386 SAUNY THE SCOT. 

that a' the toon may hear what a scauden quean 
ye are ! Out, out ! 

Pet. Why, what's the matter, Peg? I never 
saw thee in so jolly a humour. Sure thou hast 
been drinking ? 

Sau. Gud has she. — Haud ye tang, ye fa' 
dranken swine ! Out, out, out ! was ye tak' a 
drink and ne'er tak' Saundy to ye? Out, out, 
out ! 

Mar. 'Tis like I have. I am the fitter to talk 
to you, for no sober woman is a companion for 
you. 

Pet. Troth, thou say'st right ! we are excellently 
matched. 

Mar. Well, % mark the end on't. Petruchio, 
prithee come hither, I have something to say to 
you. 

Sau. De ye nea budge a foot, sir. Deil o' my 
saul, bo she'll scratch your eyn out. 

Pet. Well, your pleasure, madam 1 

Mar. First, thou art a pitiful fellow, a thing 
beneath me, which I scorn and laugh at — ha, ha, 
ha! 

Win. She holds her own yet, I see. 

Mar. I know not what to call thee. Thou art 
no man ; thou couldst not have a woman to thy 
mother. Thou paltry, scurvy, ill-conditioned 
fellow ! dost thou not tremble to think how thou 
hast used me? What ! are you silent, sir] — Biancha, 
see ! looks he not like a disbanded officer with that 
hanging-dog look there 1 ? — I must eat nothing 
because your cook has roasted the mutton dry, as 
you used to have it when your worship was a 
bachelor. I must not go to bed, neither, because 
the sheets are damp. 

Pet. Mark you, Peg, what a strange woman are 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 387 

you to discourse openly the fault of your servants 
in your own family. 

Mar. No, no, sir, this won't serve your turn; 
your old stock of impudence won't carry you off 
so, I'll speak your fame, and tell what a fine 
gentleman you are — how valiantly you and half-a- 
dozen of your men got the better of a single 
woman, and made her lose her supper. 

Sau. Gud, she lies, sir. I would ha' gin her an 
aud boot tull a made tripes on, and it wud a 
bin braw meat with mustard, and she would nea 
have it. 

Mar. My faults 1 No, good squire of the coun- 
try, you thought to have tamed me, I warrant, in 
good time. Why, you see I am even with you — 
your quiet, patient wife that will go no more in 
the country with you, but will stay in town, to 
laugh at your wise worship and wish you more wit. 

Pet. I should laugh at that ; why, we are just 
now a-going. — Sauny, go get the horses ready 
quickly. 

Sau. Gud will I, sir. Tse saddle a Highland 
wutch to carry your bride. — Gud, she'll mount 
your a . . e for you, madam ! 

Mar. Sirrah, touch a horse and I'll curry your 
coxcomb for you ! — No, sir, I won't say, Pray let 
me not go, but boldly, I w T on't go ; you force me 
if you can or dare. You see I am not tongue-tied, 
as silent as you thought you made me. 

Pet. Prithee, Peg, peace a little ! I know thou 
canst speak. Leave now, or thou'lt have nothing 
to say to-morrow. 

Mar. Yes, I'll say this over again, and some- 
thing more if I can think on 't, to a poor despised 
man of clouts. — Sister, how he smokes now he's off 
his own dunghill. 



388 SAUNY THE SCOT. 

Pet. Prithee, Peg, leave making a noise ! i' faith, 
thou'lt make my head ache. 

Mar. Noise 1 — why, this is silence to what I 
intend. I'll talk louder than this every night in 
my sleep. 

Sau. The deil shall be your bed-fellow for 
Saundy, then. 

Mar. I will learn to rail at thee in all languages. 
Thunder shall be soft music to my tongue. 

Sau. The deil a bit Scots ye gat to brangle 
in ! Marry, the deil gie ye a clap wi' a French 
thunderbolt. 

Pet. Very pretty ! Prithee go on. 

Mar. I'll have a collection of all the ill names 
that ever was invented, and call you over by 'em 
twice a day. 

Pet. And have the catalogue published for the 
education of young scolds. Proceed, Peg ! 

Mar. I'll have you chained to a stake at Billings- 
gate, and baited by the fishwives, while I stand 
to hiss 'em on. 

Pet. Ha, ha, ha ! Witty Peg ! forward. 

Mar. You shan't dare to blow your nose but 
when I bid you ; you shall know me to be the 
master. 

Sau. Wuns, gat her to the stool of repantance, 
sir. 

Pet. Nay, I believe thou wilt go in breeches 
shortly. On, on ! What ! have you no more on't 1 
Ha, ha, ha ! 

Mar. D'ye laugh, and be hanged ! I'll spoil 
your sport. [Flies at him. 

Pet. Nay, Peg, hands off ! I thought you would 
not have disgraced your good parts to come to 
blows so soon. Prithee, chide on ; thou canst not 
believe what delight I take to hear thee, it does 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 389 

become thee so well. What ! pumped dry already 1 
Prithee, talk more, and longer, and faster, and 
sharper ; this is nothing. 

Mar. I'll see you in the Indies before Til do 
anything to please you. D'y e h^ e it 1 

Pet. Extremely ! On, Peg ; you'll cool too fast. 

Mar. Why, then, mark me ; if it were to save 
thee from drowning or breaking thy neck, I won't 
speak one word more to thee these two months. 

[Sits sullenly. 

San. Ah, gud, an ye do nea lie, madam. 

Pet. Nay, good Peg, be not so hard-hearted. 
What ! melancholy all o' th' sudden 1 Gome, get 
up ; we'll send for the fiddlers and have a dance. 
Thou'lt break thy elbow with leaning on that hard 
table. — Sauny, go get your mistress a cushion. — 
Alas ! I doubt she's not well ; look to her, sister. 

Bian. Are you not well, sister % What ails you 1 
Pray speak, sister. — Indeed, brother, you have so 
vexed her she'll be sick. 

Pet. Alas, alas ! I know what's the matter with 
her ; she has the toothache — see how she holds her 
cheek. The wind has gotten into her teeth, by 
keeping her mouth open this cold weather. 

Bian. Indeed it may be so, brother ; she uses 
to be troubled with that pain sometimes. 

Pet. Without all question. Poor Peg, I pity 
thee. Which tooth is it] Wilt thou have it 
drawn, Peg 1 ? The toothache makes fools of all 
the physicians ; there is no cure but drawing. 
What say'st thou 1 — wilt thou have it pulled out % 
Well, thou shalt. — Sauny ! run, sirrah, hard by, 
you know, where my barber lives that drew me a 
tooth last week ; fetch him quickly ! What d'ye 
stand staring at 1 Eun and fetch him immediately, 
or I'll cut your legs off. 



390 SAUNY THE SCOT. 

Sau. Gud, I'se fetch ean to pull her head off, an' 
ye wull. [Exit. 

Win. This will make her find her tongue again, 
or else for certain she has lost it. 

Pet. Her tongue, brother? Alas ! you see her 
face is so swelled she cannot speak. 

Bian. You jest, brother ; her face is not swelled. 
Pray let me see, sister ; I can't perceive it. 

Pet. Not swelled 1 Why, you are blind, then. 
Prithee let her alone ; you trouble her. 

Enter Sauny and Barber. 

Here, honest barber, have you brought your in- 
struments 1 

Bar. Yes, sir. What must I do 1 

Pet. You must draw that gentlewoman a tooth 
there. Prithee do it neatly, and as gently as thou 
canst; and, d'ye hear me, take care you don't 
tear her gums. 

Bar. I warrant you, sir. 

Sau. Hear ye, sir ; could not ye mistake, and pull 
her tang out instead of her teeth 1 

Bian. I'll be gone ; I can't endure to see her 
put to so much pain. [Exit. 

Bar. Pray, madam, open your mouth, that I 
may see which tooth it is. — [She strikes him.] — 
Why, sir, did you send for me to abuse me 1 

Sau. Gud, be nea angry ; ye ha' nea a' yer pay 
yet, sir ! Cud ye not mistake and draw her tang 
instead of her teeth, sir 1 

Pet. No, no ; but it seems now she won't have 
it drawn. Go ; there's something for your pains, 
however. [Exit Barber. 

Sau. Ye sid ha' taken my counsel, sir. 

Win. This will not do, sir; you cannot raise 
the spirit you have laid, with all your arts. 






SAUNY THE SCOT. 391 

Pet. I'll try ! have at her once more. Winlove, 
you must assist me ; I'll make her stir if I can't 
make her speak. — Look, look ! alas ! how pale she 
is ! She's gone o' th' sudden ! Body o' me, she's 
stiff, too ! Undone, undone ! what an unfor- 
tunate man am I. She's gone ! she's gone ! 
Never had man so great a loss as I. Oh, Win- 
love, pity me ; my poor Peg is dead. Dear Win- 
love, call in my father and the company, that they 
may share in this sad spectacle, and help my 
sorrows with their joining griefs. — [Exit Winlove.] 
— Speak, or by this hand I'll bury thee alive. — 
Sauny, thou seest in how sad a condition thy poor 
master is ; thy good mistress is dead. Haste to the 
next church, and get the bier and the bearers hither ! 
I'll have her buried out of hand. Kun, Sauny. 

Sau. An' you'll mak' her dead, we'll bury her 
deep enough; we'll put her doon intill a Scotch 
coalpit, and she shall rise at the Deil's a . . e o' 
peak.* [Exit. 

Pet. I will see that last pious act performed, 
and then betake myself to a willing exile ; my own 
country's hell, now my dear Peg has left it. — Not 
yet ? Upon my life, I think thou hast a mind to 
be buried quick. I hope thou hast. 

Enter Winlove, Beaufoy, Sir Lyonel, Wood- 
all, Biancha, Tranio, Jamy, etc. 

Beau. Bless me, son Petruchio, is my dear 
daughter dead 1 

Pet. Alas, alas ! 'tis but too true. Would I had 
ta'en her room ! 

Beau. Why, methinks she looks brisk, fresh, 
and lively. 

* A natural cavern at Castleton, Derbyshire, called one of 
the wonders of the Peak. 



392 SAUNY THE SCOT. 

Pet. So much beauty as she had must needs 
leave some wandering remains to hover still about 
her face. 

Beau. What could her disease be ? 

Pet. Indeed I grieve to tell it, but truth must 
out — she died for spite; she was strangely in- 
fected. 

Bian. Fie, sister ! for shame, speak ! Will you 
let him abuse you thus 1 

Pet. Gentlemen, you are my loving friends, and 
knew the virtues of my matchless wife ; I hope you 
will accompany her body to its long home. 

All. We'll all wait on you. 

Beau. Thou wilt break her heart indeed. 

Pet. I warrant you, sir, 'tis tougher than so. 

Enter Sauny and Bearers with a bier. 

Sau. I bring you here vera gued men. An' she 
be nea dead, sir, for a croon more they'll bury her 
quick. 

Pet. Oh, honest friends, you're welcome; you 
must take up that corpse. How ! hard-hearted 1 — 
why do ye not weep the loss of so much beauty 
and goodness 1 ? Take her up, and lay her upon 
the bier. 

1 Bear. Why, what d'ye mean, sir ] She is not 
dead. 

Pet. Eogues ! tell me such a lie to my face ? 
Take her up or I'll swinge ye. 

Sau. Tak' her up, tak' her up ; we'll mak' her 
dead, Billy — ye'st ha' twa croons mear. Tak' her 
her up, man. 

1 Bear. Dead or alive, all's one to us, let us but 
have our fees. 

Pet. There. Nay, she is stiff; however, on with 
her. — Will you not speak yet ?— So, here, take 






SAUNY THE SCOT. 393 

these strings and bind her on the bier ; she had 
an active, stirring body when she lived, she may 
chance fall off the hearse now she's dead. So, 
now, take her up and away ! Come, gentlemen, 
you'll follow ? I mean to carry her through the 
Strand as far as St. James' ; people shall see what 
respect I bore her, she shall have so much cere- 
mony to attend her now she's dead. There my 
coach shall meet her and carry her into the coun- 
try. I'll have her laid in the vault belonging to 
my family. She shall have a monument. Some 
of you inquire me out a good poet to write her 
epitaph suitable to her birth, quality, and condi- 
tions — pity the remembrance of so many virtues 
should be lost. March on ! I would say more, but 
grief checks my tongue. 

Mar. Father, sister, husband ! are you all mad 1 
Will you expose me to open shame ] Rogues ! set 
me down, you had best. 

Pet. A miracle ! a miracle ! She lives ! Heaven 
make me thankful for 't. Set her down ! — Liv'st 
thou, my poor Peg 1 

Mar. Yes, that I do, and will, to be your tor- 
mentor. 

Sau. Out, out, gea her nea credit; gud, she's 
as dead as mine grannam. Tak' her, away with 
her, sir ! 

Pet. Eless me, my hopes are all vanished again ; 
'tis a demon speaks within her body ! Take her 
up again ; we'll bury 'em together. 

Mar. Hold, hold, my dear Petruchio ; you have 
overcome me, and I beg your pardon. Henceforth 
I will not dare to think a thought shall cross your 
pleasure. Set me at liberty, and on my knees I'll 
make my recantation. 

All. Victoria, victoria ! the field is won ! 



394 SAUNY THE SCOT. 

Pet. Art thou in earnest, Peg 1 — may I believe 
thee? 

San. You ken very well she was a'ways a lying 
quean when she was living, and wull ye believe 
her now she's dead 1 

Mar. By all that's good, not truth itself truer. 

Pet. Then thus I free thee, and make thee mis- 
tress both of myself and all I have. 

Sau. 'Sbreed, bo ye'll nea gi Saundy tull her, 
sir? 

Wood. Take heed of giving away your power, 
sir. 

Pet. I'll venture it, nor do I fear I shall repent 
my bargain. 

Mar. I'm sure I will not give you cause. You've 
taught me now what 'tis to be a wife, and I'll still 
show myself your humble handmaid. 

Pet. My best Peg, we will change kindness, and 
be each other's servant. Gentlemen, why do you 
not rejoice with me? 

Beau. I am so full of joy I cannot speak. May 
you be happy. This is your wedding day. 

Sau. Shall Saundy get her a bridecake and 
brake o'er her head, sir ? — and we's gat us a good 
wadding dunner ? 

Enter Geraldo. 

Ger. Save ye all, gentlemen ! Have ye any 
room for more guests 1 lam come to make up the 
chorus. 

Pet. My noble friend, welcome ! Where have 
you been so long ? 

Ger. I have been about a little trivial business ; 
I am just now come from a wedding. 

Pet. What wedding, I pray, sir 1 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 395 

Ger. Troth, e'en my own; I have ventured 
upon 't at last. — Madam, I hope you'll pardon me 1 

Bian. Yes, sir ; and so will this gentleman. 

Sau. Are not you a gentleman hampdresser 1 

Pet. "lis e'en so ; this proves to be Winlove in 
earnest. 

Ger. Good gentlemen, undo this riddle ; I'm all 
in the dark. 

Pet. You shall know anon, in the meantime 
believe it, gentlemen. We want another woman, 
or we might have a dance. 

Ger. My Widow is within ; she'll supply you. 

Beau. Good Peg, go and wait on her ! and you, 
Biancha, too. [Exeunt Margaret and Biancha. 

Pet. I tell thee, Geraldo, never had man so 
obedient and loving a wife as I have now. I defy 
the world to equal her. 

Win. Nay, brother, you must except her sister. 

Ger. You must except mine too, or I shall 
have a hard bargain of it ; my Widow is all 
obedience. 

Pet. I'll tell you what I'll do with you. I'll 
hold you ten pieces,* to be spent in a collation on 
them, that mine has more obedience than both 
them ; to try which, each send for his wife, and if 
mine come not first I'll lose my bet. 

Sau. Gud, ye'll lose your siller sure enough, sir. 

Both. A match ! 

Wood. I'll be your halves, Geraldo, and yours, 
Mr. Winlove, too. 

Win. Jamy, go tell your mistress I desire her 
to come hither to me presently. [Exit Jamy. 

Pet. A piece more she does not come. 

Beau. You'll lose, son, you'll lose ! I know she'll 
come. 

* Pounds. Ed, 1708. 



396 SAUNY THE SCOT. 

Pet. I know she won't. I find by instinct I 
shall win my wager. 

Enter Jamy. 

Jamy. Sir, she says she's busy, and she can't 
leave Mr. Geraldo's lady. 

Pet. Look ye there, now ! Come, your money ! 

Ger. Prithee go again and tell my wife I must 
needs speak with her immediately. [Exit Jamy. 

Pet. I shall win yours too, as sure as in my 
pocket. 

Ger, I warrant you no such matter. What will 
you give to be off your bet ? 

Pet. I won't take forty shillings. — 

Enter Jamy. 

How now 1 

Jamy. Sir, she says you have no business with 
her ; if you have, you may come to her. 

Pet. Come, produce ! I knew 'twould be so. — 
Sauny, go and tell Peg from me I command her 
to come to me instantly. 

Sau. I'se gar her gea wuth me, sir, or I'se put 
my durk to the hilt in her weam. 

Wood. Yet you won't win; I'll hang for't if 
she'll come. 

Pet. Yes,' but she will, as sure as you gave forty 
pieces to court Biancha. I'll venture them to 
twenty more upon't with you. 

Wood. Nay, I have lost enough already. 

Enter Margaret and Sauny. 

Pet. Look ye here, gentlemen ! 

Sau. 0' my saul, she's ean a daft gued lass. 

* Guineas. Ed. 1708. 



SAUNY THE SCOT. 397 

She's at your beck; streake her and kiss her, 
man. 

Mar. I come to receive your commands, sir. 

Pet. All I have to say to thee, Peg, is to bid 
thee demand ten pounds of these two gentlemen ; 
thou hast won it. 

Mar. I, sir 1— for what 1 

Pet. Only for being so good-natured to come 
when I send for you. 

Mar. It was my duty, sir. 

Pet. Come, pay, pay ; give it her ! I'll not bate 
ye twopence. 

Ger. There's mine. 

Win. And mine, sister; much good may it do 

ye. 

Beau. Well, Peg, I'll find thee one thousand 
pound the more for this. 

Sau. Bo what wull ye gie Saundy, that halpt 
to mak' her gued and tame 1 Wuns, she was as 
wild as a Galloway colt ! 

Enter Biancha and Widow. 

Win. Look ! here they come at last. 

Bian. What did you send for me for 1 

Win. Why, to win me five pounds, if you had 
been as obedient as you should ha' been. 

Bian. You have not known me long enough to 
venture so much upon my duty. I have been my 
sister's scholar a little. 

Sau. Bo put her to Saundy to teach ; gud, I'se 
mak' her sea gentle ye may streake her and handle 
her all o'er, sir. 

Ger. You might have got me five pounds if you 
had done as you should do. 

Wid. Were it to do again, you should be sure 
to lose. 



398 SAUNY THE SCOT. 

Mar. Fie ! ladies, for shame ! How dare you 
infringe that duty which you justly owe your hus- 
bands 1 They are our Lords, and we must pay 'em 
service. 

Beau. Well said, Peg ! you must be their tutor. 
Come, son, if you'll have a dance, dispatch it 
quickly ; the music's ready, and the meat will be 
spoiled. 

Pet. Come, then, play, play ! 

DANCE. 

Now let us in and eat, the work is done, 
Which neither time nor age can wear from 

memory ; 
I've tamed the shrew, but will not be ashamed 
If next you see the very tamer tamed. 



FINIS. 



MURRAT AND GIBB, EDINBURGH, 
PRINTERS TO HER MAJESTY'S STATIONER! OFFICE. 




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